


Insurrection

by thestorygirl



Series: Angel Welfare Task Force [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angel Wings, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Grace Bonds, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Gabriel, Hurt Gadreel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Not Between Dean and Castiel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sequel to "Defiant", Switching, Top Castiel, Top Dean, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:04:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10030775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestorygirl/pseuds/thestorygirl
Summary: It's been a year since Dean rescued Castiel from Crowley. The two of them are now working together on the Angel Welfare Task Force and have mostly figured out how to manage their Grace/Soul Bond.Though what Castiel has gone through has brought much needed attention to the subject of Angel rights, most angels still remain enslaved. Dean, Castiel, and Sam are working as hard as they can to help as many angels as they can, but their efforts fall short in many ways.Soon, a group of angels decides to take matters into their own hands.





	1. Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> Just a couple things.
> 
> First, this is not a stand alone fic, but a sequel. The first work, "Defiant," can be found under the "Angel Welfare Task Force" series, and really should be read first. The events and ideas of "Defiant" are very much the foundation of "Insurrection," and I'm pretty sure that this story won't make a lot of sense if one hasn't read "Defiant." 
> 
> Second, the storytelling style will be slightly different in this fic than in "Defiant." In "Defiant," chapters alternated between Dean and Castiel's points of view. In this fic, I've made the slight change of, in addition to alternating Dean and Castiel's points of view, sprinkling in a few other characters' points of view as well. I thought they also deserved a chance to tell their story, and I, personally, love seeing my OTP through outsider perspective. 
> 
> Each chapter title will be the name of the character whose point of view will be featured in that particular chapter. So, not a big change, but enough of one that I thought I should mention it. 
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading. Comments, questions, and constructive criticism are welcome!

A screech sounded from outside, shrill, piercing, and reaching a decibel level that a year ago Sam would have though an impossible feat for human lungs. Now, he barely looked up from the two plates he was filling from the impressive spread of food in Dean and Cas’ kitchen. He’d long since learned how to discern between Adam’s screams of disaster and delight. What he’d just heard was the latter.

Sure enough, as he stepped out into the warm May sunlight with a plate balanced on each hand, he saw his son toddling toward Cas as fast as his little legs could carry him, arms outstretched. An instant before Adam’s chubby fingers closed on the cotton material of Cas’ pants, Cas vanished and reappeared just behind him. Adam screeched again and clapped his hands.

Sam wove through the crowd on the front lawn, a combination of his and Sarah’s friends, Dean’s friends, and Dean and Cas’ co-workers from the police department, to where Sarah sat on an old swing hanging from a large oak tree, lazily dragging one foot through the tall grass.

“Ooh, fruit pizza!” she said, as Sam approached. “Gimme.”

Sam gave her one of the plates and sat down at the base of the tree with his on his lap. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the twin banners stretched over the front door. One read, _Happy First Birthday, Adam!_ and the other, _Happy First Homecoming Anniversary, Castiel!_ Even with the evidence right in front of him, it still didn’t seem possible that it had been a whole year.

“Pretty different from last May, right?” Sarah said, giving voice to Sam’s thoughts in that uncanny way she had.

Sam shook his head. There was no comparison.

“Poor Adam just couldn’t stop screaming, with his hernia,” he said. “I’ll never be able to thank Cas enough for figuring out what it was and healing him. And Cas. Christ. He seemed on the brink of death that entire month. If it wasn’t his injuries from Crowley and Alastair, it was that damn collar. And once we got those two things figured out, we went right into scrambling to figure out a defense for him, before he could be executed for Crowley’s crimes.”

Sarah set her plate down and nudged Sam toward her with her foot. Sam turned until he sat between her knees, his back toward her. He tipped his head back and smiled as her hands dropped to his shoulders and she began kneading away the stiffness that tended to settle there.

“And now look at them,” Sarah said.

Adam tripped over his own feet as he continued to pursue Cas. Lightening fast, Cas reached out to catch him before he could hit the ground. It didn’t matter how many times Sam told him that a little tumble wouldn’t cause any lasting damage to Adam, that, in fact, it was good for him to take a fall once in a while, Cas couldn’t seem to stop himself from preventing Adam from feeling the least bit of discomfort.

A woman, her red hair gathered back in a messy ponytail, came up to Cas, then, and engaged him in conversation. Sam recognized her as one of the officers who worked with Dean and Cas on the task force. Charlie, something, he thought her name was. Adam squirmed in Cas’ arms, and Sam was just about get up and grab him when Dean swooped by, taking Adam from Cas and giving Cas a friendly slap on the back in one smooth motion. The two of them always kept their touches casual in public, when surrounded by people who didn’t know the true nature of their Bond, or what was behind their need to constantly be in physical contact.

A lot of progress had been made in the past year, but the concept of grace/soul Bonds was definitely not something the general public was ready for.

Dean threw Adam high in the air, a move that, if Sam had tried it, would have gotten him in deep trouble with Sarah. As it was, Sarah’s hands clenched briefly on Sam’s shoulders, and then relaxed as Adam’s ecstatic giggles floated their way. Dean snatched Adam out of the air, flipping him on his stomach across Dean’s outstretched arms before sprinting across the lawn, the machine-like sound effects audible over Adam’s elated shrieks only when they’d almost reached Sam and Sarah.

“You’re lucky he hasn’t eaten, yet,” Sarah remarked, as Dean deposited Adam in Sam’s lap.

“New rule,” Sam said. “You cause the spewage, you clean the spewage.”

Dean sat down in the spot Sam had recently vacated at the base of the tree with a grin.

“No, I’m pretty sure the rule is that if it’s your kid, you clean up whatever comes out of ‘em,” he said. “Just like with dogs.”

“Did you just compare my son to a dog?” Sarah said, pretending to sound offended.

“You’ve seen his father, right?” Dean shot back, leaning against the rough bark of the tree.

“Touche,” Sarah said.

“Hey!” Sam said.

Dean laughed.

A gangly man, his jeans hanging off his narrow hips, called out to the three of them as he passed.

“Hey, Dean. Sam. Sarah.”

“Hey, Garth,” Dean said. “Didja get a chance to take a crack at the buffet inside? Cas made macaroons just for you.”

Garth nodded.

“I put away about half a dozen of them,” he said. “They were fantastic.”

Dean patted the ground beside him.

“Pull up a patch of grass,” he invited.

“No, thanks,” Garth said. “I’ve gotta get going. I have a shift in an hour.”

“A paramedic’s work is never done,” Dean said.

“True story,” Garth said. “I just wanted to thank you for inviting me. It was a great party. The best part was seeing Castiel looking so healthy. I’ll never get tired of that.”

Garth had risked his job, that day a year ago, to help keep Cas alive until Sam could arrive to remove the Enochian engraved collar that was slowly killing his grace and preventing him from healing his life threatening injuries. The law stated that human medical resources were never to be used on angels. But Garth had found a way, and if not for him, Cas might not have made it.

A muscle twitched in Dean’s jaw, and Sam could tell he was reliving the horrors of those hours. Sam hadn’t been able to get to the house until much later, as he was at the hospital while Sarah gave birth, but Dean had filled him in.

Of how Cas’ back had been whipped to the point that precious little intact skin was visible. How he’d been forced to manifest his wings, the one part of themselves that angel slaves had any agency over, the one part of themselves that was completely off limits to humans. And if that hadn’t been devastating enough, his wings has been mutilated; flayed open down to bone, feathers torn out.

Of how Cas had been so broken, so messed up that he hadn’t even recognized Dean, had thought Dean was just another sadistic “master” that Cas was at the mercy of. How Dean’d had to hold Cas down as Garth removed an Enochian engraved bullet from his shoulder, and how he’d discovered, while trying to clean Cas off, the extent of violation and humiliation the angel had endured over the twenty years of hell he’d been forced into when Sam and Dean’s father had sold him to Crowley at just thirteen years of age.

“Hey,” Sarah said, softly, for she’d seen the same change come over Dean as Sam had. “Garth’s right. He looks amazing.”

“And, he’s happy,” Sam said, as Cas chose that moment to smile at something the woman he was with had said. He also seemed to notice the four of them staring at him, and tilted his head in confusion.

“He’s Cas,” Dean said, his expression softening. He waved Cas over.

“I just wanted to say goodbye,” Garth said, as Cas drew near. “I’m going to miss the rest of the party because I have to go to work.”

“I thank you for coming,” Cas said, warmly, leaning into Garth’s hug. And this time it was Sam who was swept away by memories; of how last May Cas had flinched away from contact with any human, save Dean. Even Sam. It was surprising how much that had hurt, though Sam had taken great pains not to let on to Cas. But, when the day came that Cas finally initiated a hug between the two of them, Sam’d had to blink back tears.

“Uncle Cas, chase!” Adam cried, struggling up from Sam’s lap. “Play chase!”

“Maybe later, honey,” Sarah said.

“Now!”

Cas crouched down and held out his hand.

“I know the perfect place for playing chase,” he said. “We’ll go just beyond the beehives, on the other side of the flower garden.”

“You don’t have to, Cas,” Sarah said. “This is your party, too. You should be enjoying yourself.”

“Spending time with Adam is enjoyable,” Cas said, straightening as Adam gripped his hand.

Dean stood and brushed himself off.

“How about you let Uncle Dean in on this action,” he said, taking Adam’s other hand. “Three way chase!”

“Yay!”

Sam and Sarah watched them walk away. Every few steps, Adam would kick out his feet and, perfectly in sync, Cas and Dean would lift Adam by the arm each one held, swinging him in a wide arc as Adam squealed with glee.

Sarah draped an arm over Sam’s shoulder, and he snaked his hand up to twine their fingers together.

“Adam’s one lucky kid,” she said.

*****

Later, after a giant piece of cake and several vigorous games of chase against an angel and a thirty-four year old man who didn’t play fair, Adam passed out in Sarah’s lap. The afternoon had started to grow a little chilly, so Sam and Sarah retreated to the living room couch. As Cas and Dean’s house most definitely was not child proof, there was a brief discussion about the wisdom of leaving Adam inside unattended. Sarah eventually decided to sit with him, pulling out her phone to catch up on some work.

Outside again, Sam scanned the yard for Dean and Cas. He found Cas first, standing in the driveway speaking with a middle-aged couple. Their daughter smiled beside them, and a red haired angel stood just to the left, instead of several paces behind as Sam was accustomed to seeing her. Sam shook his head. They were the last people he’d expected to see at a party celebrating Cas’ survival.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean growled, coming up on Sam’s left side, eyes locked on the little group.

“Dean, wait,” Sam said, preparing to grab him if he didn’t stop.

But Dean paused, turning around.

“Look at them,” Sam said. “Have you ever seen Julie look that happy when she’s around her parents? And Cas looks completely relaxed. So do Mr. and Mrs. Pierce. There’s no hostility. Maybe they’re feeling a little awkward, but can you blame them? At least they’re trying.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he did take a few steps back, until he and Sam stood side by side.

“If there was ever any doubt as to how people’s attitudes toward angels are changing, that family right there is a perfect example. This time last year they were calling for Cas’ blood…and that even after he saved their daughter’s life! And now they’re standing here having a perfectly pleasant conversation with him, from the looks of things.”

Sam and Dean watched as the angel took a step forward and said something to Cas. Everyone in the group fell silent as she spoke, and Mrs. Pierce even seemed to be nodding in agreement. Anna would never have dared to be so bold just months earlier. Cas’ willingness to speak out about the abuse he endured, and Cas and Dean’s subsequent teamwork on the task force seemed to be reaching even the most resistant of angel owners. Sam turned to say as much to Dean, but found the space beside him empty, and Dean making his way toward the Pierces, Anna, and Cas.

“Dean!” he hissed.

“I’m just going to see what’s up,” Dean said. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave.”

He continued on his way, coming to a halt next to Cas and brushing their hands together in a move so subtle Sam was sure he was the only one who noticed it.

“Samsquatch!”

Sam jumped, and turned to find Gabriel and Aaron approaching. He’s been so intent on creeping on Cas and Dean that he completely missed their arrival.

“Where’s the birthday boy and the missus?” Gabriel asked.

“Taking a nap,” Sam said. “Adam’s uncles tired him out.”

“Yeah, about said uncles…” Gabriel looked over the crowd in much the same way Sam had, just minutes earlier. He raised his eyebrows when he finally spotted Dean and Cas and recognized with whom they were talking.

“Is that Anna?” Aaron asked.

Gabriel glanced briefly back at Aaron and rolled his eyes.

“Can’t put anything past you, eagle eye.”

“How are things going with Anna, by the way?” Sam asked, before Aaron could respond.

Gabriel shrugged, and returned his gaze to Anna and her owners. Almost unconsciously, it seemed to Sam, his hand drifted up to the collar he wore, the Enochian sigils upon it rendered ineffective by the few simple alterations Sam had made months ago.

“We get to see her a few times a week,” Aaron said, when it became apparent that Gabriel wasn’t going to answer. “Julie really hit on a great idea with us meeting them in the park when she’s doing her cross country work-out. There’s never anyone there, and Gabriel and Anna get about an hour and a half to talk.”

“Has Anna said anything about how her home life is? Things seem to be better, judging from what I’m seeing right now.”

That got Gabriel to turn around and face him. His golden brown eyes, normally warm and full of mischief, were flat and cold.

“Better is such a bullshit term,” he said. “Better than what? So, they let her speak, now. They ask her, sometimes, instead of just barking out orders. But she’s just as much a slave as she ever was. They give her the illusion of choice, but the important decisions about how she spends her life are not hers to make. Even the most basic…the most essential aspects of our being…are denied her.”

“I’m sorry, Gabriel,” Sam said. “I didn’t mean….”

Gabriel flicked his fingernails against the leather of his collar.

“The collar she wears…it’s not like this one. It’s not just for show. She has to feel it, every day, intruding upon her grace, suppressing her power.”

“Gabe, come on,” Aaron said, placing a hand lightly on Gabriel’s forearm. “This is Sam. He works every day to try and make things better for angels—“

“Hey, Aaron, don’t worry about it,” Sam interrupted. “It’s fine. Gabriel has every right to call me out when I say dumb stuff.”

Gabriel sighed, relaxing visibly at Aaron’s touch.

“I don’t mean to seem ungrateful,” he said. “You and Dean have done so much for me. I get that. It’s just hard, knowing that I have so much freedom when others, especially Anna, continue to suffer.”

Sam started to reply, but Gabriel cut him off.

“And I know that things are better, as you say. But it’s not enough.”

Gabriel fell silent, then, which was strange enough in and of itself. Sam couldn’t think of anything he could say that would help. Because everything Gabriel had said was true. The small advances they’d made in the past year, the minor changes they’d managed to effect since Cas’ trial; none of it had really made that much of a difference in the grand scheme of things.

The majority of the angels were still enslaved. And, though recent events had clearly given the majority of the angel owning public pause, the treatment of those enslaved angels really hadn’t changed much.

Sam caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Gabriel had suddenly straightened up and plastered a huge smile on his face.

“Hey, bro,” he said, as Cas and Dean approached. Dean’s hand rested on Cas’ shoulder, looking, for all the world as though he was simply guiding Cas into position.

“Hello, Gabriel,” Cas said with a smile. He leaned slightly into Dean’s touch, trying to maximize the amount of contact.

“Nice of you to finally show up, Gabe,” Dean said. “Considering the thing is almost over.”

“What can I say, Deano? I like to make an entrance.”

“You don’t say,” Dean said, drily.

“Anna seems well,” Cas said. “She was telling us about the weekly free afternoons the Pierces have instituted.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.

“Did she tell you that on these ‘free’ afternoons she’s confined to the house and grounds? Basically, it’s just an afternoon without set duties. Such great lengths they go to ensure she is isolated from her own kind.”

“They’re trying, brother,” Cas said. “It’s unrealistic to expect complete change overnight.”

“It’s just five more years until Julie turns eighteen and gains ownership of Anna. Then the two of you will be free to complete the Bond and do anything else you want,” Aaron said.

“In the meantime, we’re going to keep fighting for you,” Sam said. “For all angels. We won’t stop.”

He couldn’t tell if Gabriel was really comforted by their words, or if he just didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Gabriel cleared his throat and started looking around again.

“Some party,” he said. “Where’s all the food?”

Cas rolled his eyes. He’d become so much more expressive since the Bond, Sam mused. He’d occasionally catch him throwing out little mannerisms he’d come to associate with Dean. Just little things, like the way he’d hold himself sometimes, or how a faint smirk would cross his features when he was amused. It was the same with Dean. Occasionally, if Dean was confused or perplexed, Sam would see him doing the patented Cas frown and head tilt.

“Food’s in the kitchen,” Dean said. “And don’t you dare eat all the pie.”

“Moi?” Gabriel said with mock innocence. “I would never.” He turned to Cas. “You coming, Cassy?”

“We have to be sure not to wake Adam,” Cas said, falling into step beside Gabriel. “He’s sleeping just inside.”

“You’re welcome to go ahead and grab some food, too,” Dean said to Aaron. “There’s plenty.”

“I’ll check it out later,” Aaron said. Once Gabriel was out of earshot, Aaron began digging around in the pocket of his jacket, finally withdrawing a somewhat crumpled envelope. “Another one of these came. I thought we were done with all of this.”

Sam took the envelope from him and unfolded the piece of paper inside.

_Mr. Aaron Bass,_

_This letter is to inform you of the charges brought against the angel Gabriel in the wrongful death of Fergus MacLeod, as requested by Mr. MacLeod’s surviving family._

_As the angel in question is currently in your possession, you will be responsible for ensuring that he remains in the area and is available for questioning and/or punishment as circumstances develop._

_At this point, there has been no cause to personally charge you with any wrongdoing. You’ve cooperated in all previous investigations. However, let this serve as a reminder that if, during this time, your angel is deemed uncooperative or is found missing, you will be held responsible._

_You will be notified by mail when a decision has been reached._

_Sincerely,_

_Abaddon Knight, Attorney at Law, representing the interests of:_

_Rowena MacLeod_

_and_

_Gavin MacLeod_

Sam handed the letter to Dean after he finished and waited for him to read it. Aaron looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Well?” he said, when Dean looked up.

“I don’t really think you have anything to worry about,” Sam said. “This is fifth time they’ve tried to bring up charges since last summer. There’s a reason it hasn’t stuck any of those other times.”

“Because they don’t have a fucking leg to stand on,” Dean said, refolding the letter rather haphazardly. “It was determined, by Chuck Shurley no less, that due to extenuating circumstances, Gabriel wasn’t at fault. There’s testimony by all three of us, plus the few of Crowley’s employees who were conscious at the time.”

Aaron looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot, and lowered his voice.

“Yeah,” he all but whispered, “But those testimonies weren’t entirely accurate, now, were they? What if they find out somehow that Crowley wasn’t actively attacking anyone when Gabriel killed him? What if she’s gotten to one of Crowley’s men? They only agreed to confirm our story because they wanted reduced prison sentences. What if—“

“Aaron. Come on, man,” Dean said, clapping him roughly on the shoulder. “You gotta chill.”

Sam glared at him. There were drawbacks to how close Dean had gotten to Aaron since he’d place Gabriel with him just before Cas’ rescue the previous year, after Gabriel’s fourth relinquishment. Dean tended to treat Aaron kind of like a kid brother, rather than an inexperienced first time angel owner who, though he was devoted to Gabriel and visa versa, was struggling with the challenges he’d had to face since taking the angel in.

“What Dean means, is that we understand why you’re a little worried about all of this,” Sam said.

“More than a little,” Aaron said, his voice rising. “This past year has been one inquisition after another. I know it’s taking a toll on Gabriel, even though all he does is joke about it. I just…I don’t know how much more of this we can stand. I mean, this time last year, my biggest problems were my parents bugging me to find a nice Jewish girl and settle down, and my new angel who was smoking all of my pot.”

“Friggin’ Gabriel,” Dean muttered, and Sam smothered a grin.

“But now,” Aaron continued, “Gabriel is, for all intents and purposes, free. Which is awesome. It really is. But it’s kind of scary, too. I know he’d never intentionally do anything to jeopardize himself, but you know what he’s like. Especially since all this stuff with Anna. And knowing that I’ve got some psycho watching our every move…I saw what she almost did to Cas at the trial. She’s one scary bitch. It’s just…a lot.”

Dean tightened his grip on Aaron’s shoulder, giving him a little shake.

“Don’t worry about Abaddon,” he said. “She hates to lose, and having two high profile angel related verdicts not go her way just months apart has got to be killing her. These little investigations, they’re just tantrums.”

“Everything that she’s mentioned in her letter has already been examined multiple times, at length,” Sam added. “Aside from our testimonies, there’s a mountain of physical evidence against Crowley, both from the twenty years he owned Cas, and that last failed attack on all of us. Crowley was clearly in the wrong, and obviously a danger, not only to us but to the general public. The only reason there was any investigation into his death at all is because it was technically an angel who was responsible.”

“I suppose,” Aaron said, slowly.

“No one is taking them seriously anymore,” Dean said. “Pretty sure this is going to be the end of it. Their last ditch effort to make something happen. Abaddon has to realize that pursuing this for much longer is going to damage her reputation. If she has any sense at all, she’ll convince Crowley’s mother and son to let it go after this.”

Sam nodded his agreement, and to his relief, Aaron finally seemed to believe them.

“Sorry,” Aaron said. “I know I’m being a little obsessive about all of this but just…after everything he’s been through, he deserves a break. You know?”

“We know,” Sam said.

It was the truth. Both he and Dean had learned the hard way how easy it was for angels to fall through the cracks all those years ago when their father had sold Cas right out from under them. Since then, they’d been working nonstop to try and minimize the suffering of all angels, though they’d taken different paths.

Sam immersed himself in underground movements that worked to quietly free as many angels as possible, and to ensure that they had safe places to live away from humans. Dean had gone official, forming the Angel Welfare Task Force two years after graduating from the Police Academy, and working to improve the lives of angels who were still enslaved. For a long time, they’d both been reasonably satisfied with the work they’d done.

But then Dean found Cas. And as they worked together to help Cas heal, both physically and emotionally, they’d had to face some pretty hard truths about the reality of how bad things really were for angels. And how what they’d been doing wasn’t nearly enough.

They’d made some progress in the past year, but Gabriel was right. It wasn’t even close to adequate.

******

The party started winding down not too much longer after that. Gabriel and Aaron were amongst the last to leave, and soon it was just Sam and Sarah helping to clean things up while Adam sat and banged on an assortment of pots with a wooden spoon.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say the party was a success,” Sarah said, as she placed the last glass in the dishwasher.

“Seemed like pretty much the whole police force turned up,” Sam said. “I’m glad we decided to get that extra platter of subs.”

“And Gabriel left exactly one half slice of apple pie,” Dean grumbled. “Asshole.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked over at Adam on the floor.

“Shit,” Dean said. “Sorry. No! I mean crap. Or shoot. Or fudge.”

Sarah started laughing. Adam continued his banging, oblivious.

“I tried to tell Gabriel that was a bad idea,” Cas said. “But he insisted you would see the funny side.”

“I should insist he owe me a replacement pie.”

Cas stepped away from the sink and, after drying his hands, sidled up next to Dean. He embraced him from behind, slipping his hands beneath the hem of Dean’s T-shirt and brushing his lips against Dean’s neck. Adam chose that moment to pause in his assault on the kitchenware, and Cas’ words probably came out louder than he’d intended.

“Or, we could just wait and have dessert later.”

“Guys!” Sam complained. “Can you stow the innuendo and the fusing yourselves together stuff until after we leave?”

“My apologies, Sam,” Cas said. “I was counting on Adam to provide cover sound for that last remark.”

Sam chuckled, and tried to cover it up by screwing up his face into a scowl. He didn’t really care about the fusing themselves together, or even the innuendo. He’d been dealing with it for the past three quarters of a year, since the Bond. He knew they needed it, especially after a day of having to keep their distance. It didn’t mean he couldn’t give Dean a hard time about it, though. It was pretty much his duty as younger brother.

Dean leaned back and gave Cas a peck on the jaw.

“You two are adorable,” Sarah said. And that, of all things, caused a blush to bloom over Dean’s cheeks.

“Oh, we are the farthest thing from adorable,” he said. “We’re…tough. And manly. Right, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas was now nuzzling the back of Dean’s neck. Dean closed his eyes and leaned in even closer.

“Yeah, you guys are very convincing,” Sarah said. She reached down and plucked the spoon away from Adam, swinging him into her arms before he could process what had happened and start to cry. “We should probably get going.”

It took at least fifteen minutes to gather all of their things together (who would have thought babies could amass so much _stuff_?), but at last they were on their way. Sam was nearly out the door before he remembered.

“Cas,” he said, turning around and pulling an envelope out of the pocket of his jeans. “I meant to give this to you earlier, but there was always something else going on. I stopped by the Free Angel Colony in the Ozarks a few days ago to help another angel get settled, and Hannah sent this back for you. She said to tell you that she’s very happy and that she loves it there, but the letter will cover all of that, I’m sure.”

Cas eagerly stepped forward and accepted the letter with his left hand. His right was entwined in Dean’s.

“Thank you so much, Sam,” he said. “I was thinking about Hannah a lot, today. I’m so glad you brought this.”

“No problem,” Sam said. “And Happy Homecoming. We’ll have to make this joint party thing a yearly tradition, don’t you think?”

Though Sam had technically been talking to Cas, it was Dean who answered.

“Absolutely,” he said, while Cas continued to stare at the envelope. “And if you think this party was wild, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Next year we’re going to go all out, now that things are finally settling down. It’s all good from here.”

“You bet,” Sam said, and headed to the car.

As they reached the end of the driveway, Sam glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Dean and Cas had stayed out on the porch, watching them drive away.


	2. Dean

The sun had dipped low enough in the sky that everything seemed to be illuminated in a soft, golden glow. The effect was particularly striking against Sam and Sarah’s car, and Dean and Cas both watched appreciatively as the car faded from sight. Dean shifted his gaze to the left, and saw that Cas had returned to staring at the envelope Sam had given him. As he sensed Dean’s attention move to him, he gave Dean’s hand a quick squeeze. Dean raised their clasped hands and briefly touched his lips to their twined fingers. Cas finally looked up from the envelope.

And just then, Dean’s phone rang. It was in his back left pocket, and Dean fumbled around with his right hand to grab it, not quite ready to let go of Cas just yet. Honestly, he was never really ready to let go of Cas, but it was especially tough after the day they’d just had. Even nearly ten months after the Bond had been completed, it still hurt to go too long without physical contact.

Dean finally managed to twist his arm behind his back and extract his phone. The caller ID display read _Captain Singer_.

“It’s Bobby,” Dean said.

“You should take it,” Cas said. “It’s probably important.”

“Probably,” Dean agreed. Bobby hadn’t shown up at the party, even though he’d told Dean that he’d planned to make an appearance the last time they’d spoken. Something must have happened. Dean swiped his thumb across the phone screen.

“Was just about to give up on you,” Bobby’s gruff voice sounded in Dean’s ear.

“We’re just cleaning up after the party. You’re lucky I picked up at all, considering you ditched us,” Dean said. Cas’ eyes widened, and Dean winked at him. Cas tended to get a little nervous when Dean started needling Bobby; a lingering effect, Dean was pretty sure, of his years of abuse and torment. Even a year later, Dean still hadn’t been able to convince Cas that the occasional moment of disrespect was all in fun, that Bobby wouldn’t be angry or offended.

“You say lucky. Others would call it afflicted.”

Cas untangled their hands and descended the porch steps. He turned to face Dean and held up the envelope. His lips didn’t move, but the words appeared in Dean’s head all at once, courtesy of the Bond.

_Going to read the letter down by the hives. Find me when you’re done?_

Dean nodded. He heard the words in Cas’ voice, just as though he’d spoken aloud. It was kind of cool, actually…

“Dean! Are you listening to me, boy?”

But it could get kind of confusing, trying to keep track of two conversations at once.

“Sorry, Bobby, the connection kinda went…but we’re good, now. What’s up?”

“I was sayin’ that I had to miss the party because I got called into a meeting with Dick Roman. Name ring any bells?”

“Angel trader. My dad did a lot of business with him back in the day. Haven’t heard from him in a while, though. Thought he moved out of the area.”

“Well, he’s looking to move back in. Apparently, he’s been organizing a major angel auction with traders from all over the country. He feels that Lawrence is a good central location for his mega auction. He’s been making deals all over town, trying to get his permits fast tracked.”

“Hope you told him where he could shove his permits,” Dean said.

It’d been years since an angel auction had been held in Lawrence. While it wasn’t technically illegal, Dean had managed, through the Task Force, to make the process so complicated and expensive that traders started avoiding the area. People who wanted to purchase angels had to go out of the county to do it, and records showed that the number of new angel slaves brought in had been decreasing every year since then.

“Sorry, son. That’s what I was calling to tell you. He’s been greenlit. Auction’s scheduled for next week, at the fairgrounds. Traders are gonna be coming in from just about everywhere.”

“I want access,” Dean said, barely waiting for Bobby to finish. “If there’s no way to stop this, I at least want the Task Force to be on site to monitor the treatment of the angels. And I want my protocols for Humane Handling to be implemented.”

“Already done,” Bobby said. “I sent copies of the Humane Handling Protocol with Roman, and faxed them to everyone on the list of traders he provided. I told him that you and your people would be in attendance, and that you had full authority to enforce laws pertaining to angel treatment.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Dean grumbled.

“Wanna try that again?” Bobby said. “I just spent five hours fighting for your agenda, trapped in a room with a guy who basically tried to eat me alive.”

“I mean, thanks so much, Bobby. You really went above and beyond. I don’t know how to—“

“Johnnie Walker Blue. You know the drill.”

Dean huffed out a laugh.

“You got it, Bobby.”

******

It was dusk by the time Dean made it down to where Cas sat on a lounge chair that had been strategically placed so as to offer maximum visibility of the bees without causing them undue stress. Dean had splurged on the chair one day about a week after the Bond. He and Cas had still been a little wobbly, and separation for any length of time had been agonizing. They hadn’t really been capable of doing anything more than simply lying around clinging to each other.

Cas’ years of imprisonment and torture had left him with a low tolerance for the confining feel of four walls and a roof, and he was soon desperate to get out of the house. The old hammock Dean had put up for him was okay for short periods, but started to get uncomfortable if they spent any length of time in there. Dean had found the large double chair with the soft, all-weather cushion for sale on Amazon. The shipping fee had been a bitch, but it was worth it. Cas loved it. As there were no armrests, there was plenty of room for the both of them, even if Cas happened to have his wings out.

Cas’ wings were invisible for the moment, as they had been for the entirety of the day. He’d removed his shirt, draping it over one corner of the chair back, and sat smack in the middle of the seat, his arms propped on his raised knees, the letter from Hannah dangling from one hand. He looked out toward the hives, perhaps watching the bees returning home for the night. Dean couldn’t be sure…by then it was too dark for him to appreciate anything but a faint humming sound that told him some of the bees, at least, were still out and about.

Dean stripped off his shirt as he drew closer and tossed it on top of Cas’. Cas looked up and reached out a hand to Dean, tugging him down to sit between his legs, his back flush with Cas’ chest. Dean sighed with relief as the dull ache just beneath his sternum subsided with the skin on skin contact. He felt Cas’ contented exhale against the skin on the back of his neck, and nestled in closer.

“Why did Bobby call?” Cas asked, after they’d had a few moments to collect themselves.

Dean didn’t answer right away, trying to figure out the best way to break the news. Cas’ arms tightened around him.

“It troubles you, what was said.”

Dean cursed softly, and put more effort into maintaining the mental wall he’d been cultivating over the past few months. Without interference, a result of the Bond was that he and Cas were privy to one another’s every thought and feeling. It was nice at certain times (and _very_ nice at others), but it was also incredibly distracting, and not really practical to everyday life. Cas had instructed Dean in the utilization of the wall, and Dean was learning. Cas was much better at it that he was, seemingly able to go from an impenetrable force field to nothing in about half a second on a whim.

_Might I suggest less focus on concealing your thoughts if you’re just going to tell me anyway?_

“Smart ass,” Dean muttered. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Does the name Dick Roman mean anything to you?”

Dean felt Cas shake his head, his hair tickling the back of Dean’s neck.

“He’s a slave trader,” Dean said. “He’s got this huge operation, probably deals with hundreds of thousands of angels each year. He used to be based in this area, but he moved on years ago, after I helped to get some legislation passed regulating how auctions are run and making them more complicated than they are worth to the traders. Until now, anyway.”

“He’s coming back,” Cas stated.

“He’s coming back. And planning this massive slave auction. He’s joining forces with a bunch of other traders from all over the country. Sounds like it’s going to be the biggest auction event we’ve ever seen around here.”

A slight tremor passed through Cas’ body, and his embrace became tighter still. Dean covered Cas’ clasped hands with his own.

“You’ve never been to one. An auction.”

“No,” Cas said. “Your father had a standing order at the facility where I was born. My group was transferred directly here, for training. And then it was straight to Mas— to Crowley.”

“I’m not gonna lie. It’s pretty hellish for angels. Crowded, filthy conditions. Usually the collars they wear are higher powered than normal, and they may have additional compliance spells place on them to make them seem more docile to buyers. The angels are usually treated pretty roughly, too. Traders and handlers trying to show off to one another.”

The trembling increased, noticeable even with Cas trying to mask it by pressing himself closer to Dean. His walls were up; Dean couldn’t read his thoughts. All he could feel from him was a growing sense of distress. Dean began rubbing soothing circles over Cas’ knuckles with his thumb.

“I’ll be there, and most of the Task Force. We’ll be enforcing the Humane Handling Protocol, which will cut down on the violence, and we’ll be making sure that no one with a previous conviction of angel mistreatment is able to make a purchase.”

Cas was still silent.

“You don’t have to come,” Dean said. “That’s not something I would ever ask of you.”

“No,” Cas said, finally. “I need to be there.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Dean didn’t push. They sat together quietly for almost a full minute before Cas spoke again.

“In her letter, Hannah wrote that the free angels in her colony are content, as is she. For the first time in her life, she is living without fear.”

“That’s great,” Dean said.

“And yet,” Cas continued, “It seems that, after the initial adjustment period, after the angels have had time to heal and to process what has happened to them, they are finding themselves inexplicably yearning for human contact.”

“What?” Dean said. “That doesn’t make sense. Hannah, too? After everything that was done to her?”

“Yes, Hannah is having these feelings as well. She says that she feels incomplete, somehow. That something is missing.”

“Is she unhappy?” Dean asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Cas said. “Hannah made it very clear that she is grateful for everything you and Sam have done for her, and that the colony is very comfortable and secure. Much of the time, she says, the sensation is so slight that it’s easy to ignore. It’s only when Sam or Sarah visit that the angels really notice what’s happening. There’s a delight of anticipation before their visits that sweeps through the colony, and after they leave there is a bit of depression. Nothing serious. Hannah described it as feeling hollow.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of anything like this,” Dean said, doubtfully. “The Ozark Colony is far from the first free angel dwelling out there. There are others that were established long before.”

“Well,” Cas said, retrieving the letter from where he’d dropped it when Dean had joined him on the lounge chair. He carefully folded it and slipped it into the pocket of the shirt that dangled from the chair back before continuing. “It’s not really something they’d share with humans, now, is it? Especially not after what most of them have had to endure at the hands of your species.”

His tone was matter of fact, with no hint of anger or accusation. Still, Dean felt a flash of guilt, thinking of all of the angels he’d failed over his life. The auction would see thousands more angels coming through Lawrence, angels who, despite the new laws and protocols, Dean would be just as incapable of saving. Cas must have picked up on what Dean was feeling, for he leaned forward and pecked a kiss onto Dean’s lower jaw.

“I believe we’ve had this conversation before,” he murmured. “How it’s impossible for you to expect to be able to save everyone?”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Dean said. “Doesn’t mean it still doesn’t eat at me.”

Cas didn’t answer right away, but Dean felt a wave of calm, of comfort, coming from him.

“Thanks,” Dean whispered, as the tension bled from his limbs.

“There’s a story that angels tell each other,” Cas said, after a few moments, “a story of how our Father in heaven created us, not only to aid humans in the great fight against evil all those thousands of years ago, but to also complete them. The theory was that angels and humans both could only truly be whole when they worked together, not as Master and Slave, but as equals.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard that one,” Dean said. “But it’s a nice idea.”

“It’s not widely accepted,” Cas said. “Most of us figured that the story existed simply to prevent us from despairing, to give us a bit of hope that someday things could get better. I haven’t thought about that story in years…the last time I heard it was as a fledgling, soon after I arrived at this place, from one of the older trainees. But after reading Hannah’s letter, I suddenly remembered it. Maybe there is some truth to it.”

“Maybe,” Dean said. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Cas knew as well as he did how difficult even small improvements in angel treatment were to make. Free angels and humans living side by side seemed like too much to even dream about. Especially with events like Dick Roman’s mega auction fast approaching.

The news about the free angels was a blow, though. Could they never catch a break? Were they really doomed to either suffer at the hands of humans as slaves, or pine for humans as free angels? Dean thought of Gabriel and Aaron’s arrangement. Though far from perfect, it was as close to an example of what Cas had been talking about as he could get. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would take to convince even a larger portion of the population to see their angels as equals.

Dean was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Cas freeing his hands from Dean’s until he started lightly running them over Dean’s chest.

“Mmmm,” Dean said, leaning into the touch. “This your way of telling me the conversation is over?”

“For now.”

Cas’ hands drifted lower, passing over Dean’s abdomen and brushing against the top of his jeans. Cas stopped at his left front pocket, fingers disappearing inside and pulling out a small, travel-sized bottle of lube. Dean had grabbed it from the house after Bobby’s phone call.

“Were you expecting something to happen out here tonight, Dean?”

Dean grinned. He loved it when Cas felt comfortable enough to crack jokes, even if they usually tended to be at his expense.

“Always be prepared. Learned that from the Boy Scouts.”

Cas’ other hand, the one not holding the lube, unfastened the button on the front of Dean’s jeans and slowly undid the zipper.

“Boy Scouts?” Cas said. “I had no idea their teachings were so…eclectic.”

Dean snorted out a laugh.

“I’m going to put a stop to this before it gets— ah!”

Cas’ hand had found its way inside Dean’s boxers and closed around his cock. Dean let out a shaky breath as Cas started moving his hand. He heard Cas fumbling around with the lube with the other. He didn’t offer to help, knowing from experience that Cas was particularly adept at this move. Dean suspected angel mojo was involved but he’d never asked. Sure enough, soon came the sound of the cap popping off and the squelch of Cas coating his hand.

Cas switched hands so deftly that Dean wouldn’t have realized anything had happened save for the difference in sensation. His strokes were slow at first, with the just the right amount of pressure. Every now and again he’d smooth his thumb over Dean’s cockhead, and Dean’s hands knotted in the material of the loose, black cotton pants Cas wore.

Cas used his other hand to tug Dean’s jeans and boxers down farther, until they pooled around his ankles. He took advantage of the improved access, increasing both the length and speed of his strokes while pressing wet, open mouthed kisses along Dean’s shoulders and the back of his neck.

With Dean’s pants and underwear out of the way, Cas moved his free hand back up the length of Dean’s body, tracing abstract shapes along the curve of Dean’s hipbone. Slowly, in absolute contrast to the movements of his other hand, Cas dragged his fingers higher, over Dean’s belly button and the muscles of his stomach, finally reaching his chest.

Cas pressed his palm down and splayed his fingers right over Dean’s thudding heart, his other hand still working the length of Dean’s shaft. One long finger just barely brushed against one of Dean’s nipples. Dean’s breathing stuttered, and he closed his eyes. Two fingers, now, and this time Cas applied more pressure, giving a little pinch.

Dean gasped, hips bucking forward, thrusting into the circle of Cas’ fist. He lasted only a few seconds more, painting his thighs and Cas’ hand with come. Cas stroked him gently through the aftershocks, until any sensation became too much, and Dean collapsed, panting, against Cas’ chest.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, once he was able to speak again.

“Patience, Dean,” Cas breathed against the nape of Dean’s neck. “We’ll get there.”

It was Cas’ warm breath on his skin as much as his words that sent a pulse of arousal straight to Dean’s spent cock.

“Damn straight we will,” Dean said, letting go of the two handfuls of the fabric of Cas’ pants he’d still been grasping, kicking his jeans and boxers free of his ankles, and flipping himself around so that he and Cas were face to face; Dean straddling his hips. Cas’ hands settled on his waist, and Dean leaned forward, bringing their lips together.

Cas received the kiss with his mouth partly open, his tongue twining with Dean’s. Dean felt the feather light brush of Cas’ eyelashes against his cheek as he slightly adjusted his position to give Dean more access. Dean buried his hands in Cas’ hair, fingernails scraping against his scalp. Cas gave a breathy moan and the sound, again, went straight to Dean’s cock.

Cas grabbed for the lube again, and a slick finger soon circled Dean’s hole. Dean didn’t need much prep, especially considering how loose and relaxed he was after his orgasm, but Cas was meticulously thorough. It would have been endearing, but Dean’s amusement was somewhat lessened by the knowledge of exactly why Cas always took such care to ensure that Dean felt no discomfort.

_No, Dean. Don’t think about that, now._

Again, Dean cursed his inability to adequately shield his mind from Cas.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into Cas’ mouth.

Cas smoothed a hand down the length of Dean’s back as he advanced his finger. Dean took the hint and shut-up, his hands slipping from Cas’ hair to grip his shoulders as he thrust his tongue forward, deepening the kiss. Cas’ hand came to rest on the small of Dean’s back while he worked Dean open, soon adding a second finger. Dean pulled back a bit from the kiss, his teeth grazing Cas’ lower lip.

He couldn’t really see Cas’ face in the growing dark, but he didn’t have to be able to see him to know he wore a self-satisfied smirk that Dean was pretty sure he’d somehow picked up from him. An instant later, Dean gasped and shuddered as Cas’ fingers brushed against his prostate. Cas inhaled sharply, and Dean knew he’d felt it, too. One of the perks of the Bond.

Dean began kissing his way down Cas’ neck, pausing to lightly grip the skin with his teeth as Cas added a third finger, and the pressure against his prostate became more insistent.

“Cas,” he groaned, the word slightly muffled from the way his lips were pressed against Cas’ neck. “’M ready, Cas.”

“If you’re sure, Dean,” Cas said, and Dean winced a little at the emptiness left behind when Cas removed his fingers.

Dean felt his way down Cas’ chest and abdomen until he hit the soft cloth of Cas’ pants.

“Lift up,” he said, and Cas obediently raised his hips, allowing Dean to ease his pants down and off. Cas’ cock, already half hard, bobbed free.

“Lube?” Dean asked, and Cas slapped the tube into his hand.

Dean went to work, slicking Cas’ cock and teasing until he was fully erect. Dean carefully positioned himself and slowly sank down, giving a satisfied sigh as Cas filled him up. Cas held perfectly still, giving Dean time to adjust. Even though it was dark, Dean was pretty sure Cas could see him nod that he was ready, just as he’d been able to see the bees earlier, through the gloom.

Dean began moving his hips in slow figure eights, Cas mirroring him from below. He gasped with pleasure whenever Cas hit his prostate, and heard Cas’ answering low moans. Dean reached blindly out in front of him, and Cas grabbed his hands, tangling their fingers together. A soft rustle of feathers signaled the appearance of Cas’ wings.

“Need to…feel it, Cas. Need…to,” gasped Dean, and suddenly the barrier between them was gone, and he was awash in the full force of Cas’ pleasure as well as his own. He felt Cas’ long flight feathers dragging over his skin, and at the same time, sensed how the skin felt beneath those feathers.

“Dean,” breathed Cas, feathers sweeping over Dean’s shoulders, chest, and around his back, pushing him forward, changing the angle just enough for the occasional thrust against his prostate to become more consistent, more relentless.

“Dean,” Cas said again.

Dean’s cock was hard and dripping precome. A few feathers drifted there, moving lazily back and forth. Dean was close, so close, and the feathers were going to push him right over the edge. He held back, though, not wanting to come until Cas did. Dean let go of Cas’ hands and rested one palm on top of the largest joint of the right wing. His other hand dropped down to curl around the feathers that had encircled his cock.

Cas gripped Dean’s hips hard enough that Dean was pretty sure there’d be marks afterward. He breathed in short, ragged bursts, and Dean felt his rhythm falter.

“Come for me, Cas,” Dean murmured, clenching around Cas’ cock.

Cas came, calling Dean’s name loud enough that it echoed throughout the clear, still night. Dean followed an instant later, spilling over Cas’ feathers and his own fist. Dean sagged forward, spent, and Cas braced him with one arm, slowly easing him down. The warm weight of Cas’ feathers settled over his back, and Dean was dimly aware of Cas using his grace to clean them both up.

“You are somethin’ else, Cas,” Dean slurred, resting his head on Cas’ shoulder.

“So you’ve said before.”

Dean chuckled, and closed his eyes.

“Imma rest my eyes for just a second,” he said.

“Sleep, Dean,” Cas said. “Would you like me to take us back inside?”

Inside did sound nice. Cas would whisk them right to Dean’s bed in less than a second. It was getting kind of chilly out, too. But, cocooned as he was in Cas’ wings, Dean was warm and toasty. He knew Cas would prefer to stay outside, though Cas’ shield was back up, and he didn’t have access to the actual thoughts.

“It’s a nice night to spend outside, don’t you think?” Dean said.

He was rewarded by Cas adjusting his wings so that he was even more snugly wrapped and pressing a soft kiss to the center of his forehead.


	3. Gadreel

Gadreel sat alone in the dark, his head in his hands. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the small room, waiting to learn his fate. None of the other angels at the compound would talk to him, and after what had happened, Gadreel didn’t blame them. He was a failure. A liability.

_“Don’t leave me, brother. Please.”_

Abner’s weakened, wasted voice echoed in his head, and that last image of Abner lying there on the floor, blood and grace spilling from his vessel, reaching out to him, consumed his vision. Gadreel had left. With Abner beyond help and the humans fast closing in, Gadreel had made the decision that would haunt him for the rest of his days. He left his brother alone to die.

They’d been imprisoned together for years, since they were little more than fledglings. Through seemingly never ending cycles of abuse, of even more brutal punishment; of helping one another through injuries as best they could without access to their healing abilities, they’d stood by each other. Until that last day. Gadreel had escaped at the cost of Abner’s life.

After months spent wandering aimlessly, consumed by guilt, stumbling upon the Freedom Warriors had seemed like an answer to a prayer. Except Gadreel knew better, knew that his Father having abandoned all angels to their fate, did not concern himself with their prayers. It was Lucifer who made the decision to take Gadreel in, who showed him trust. It was Lucifer who had saved his life after his father had forsaken him.

Working with the underground group of rogue and escaped angels had afforded Gadreel the opportunity to avenge Abner’s death. It felt good to have a purpose, to make a difference. And then came the raid on the angelic weapons hold. Another angel, left to die. It had been Gadreel’s fault. He’d misjudged the threat posed by the humans guarding the hold, underestimated their ability to fight. Thaddeus was the one who paid for that mistake.

And Gadreel had come back to the compound without the weapons, without his partner, with only a slash from an angel blade to show for his efforts. The wound burned on his right outer thigh. Tendrils of grace still escaped from the rent in his flesh. He refused to allow himself to heal. He wasn’t worthy. What he deserved was death. He was a disgrace, and he couldn’t see any other way to atone.

******

Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside his room. Gadreel expected them to just pass by, as had been the case for the better part of a week, but to his surprise they stopped just beyond his door. He heard the click of the lock being disengaged. The door swung open, revealing the scarred face of Theo.

“Get up,” Theo said. “Lucifer will see you, now.”

Gadreel studied Theo’s face as he rose and approached the doorway, trying to discern any hint of what Lucifer might have in store for him. Theo’s face was impassive, and he didn’t say another word as he closed the door behind Gadreel and motioned for him to follow. Gadreel complied, limping on his injured leg. Theo noticed. His lips twitched briefly, and he increased his pace.

The compound consisted of a twisting maze of hallways and stairways. It had once been a human educational facility of some sort. It had been abandoned when Lucifer and the rest of the group claimed it. As angels, they had no use for the electricity, water, or gas, which would have attracted the attention of the humans in town. No, the Freedom Warriors managed to elude detection, quietly plotting the destruction of all humans from beneath their very noses.

Theo led Gadreel to a whole other floor and into a large, airy room. One of the walls consisted of a tall bank of windows, allowing the winking streetlights to bathe the room in an array of ever moving shadows. Lucifer stood at one of the windows, hands clasped behind his back, looking out over the sleeping city. He turned around when they entered, and dismissed Theo with a nod.

“Gadreel,” he said, stepping out of the shadows into a beam of moonlight.

Gadreel dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

“Brother,” he said, in a hoarse whisper.

Lucifer’s footsteps drew closer, and Gadreel felt the light brush of Lucifer’s long, elegant fingers against the crown of his head. Instantly, his festering wound healed.

“Are you so low on power, Gadreel, that you could not manage to take care of this injury even after a week?”

Gadreel shook his head.

“You may speak,” Lucifer said.

“It was punishment,” Gadreel said.

“Ah now, but that’s not for you to decide, is it, brother?”

Again Gadreel mutely shook his head.

“Who is responsible for determining your punishment?”

“You are, brother.”

Lucifer’s fingers drifted down the line of Gadreel’s jaw and beneath his chin. Lucifer tipped his head up to look into his eyes.

“I put my utmost trust in you.”

Gadreel wanted to hang his head in shame, but Lucifer was insisting on eye contact, so he forced himself to confront his brother’s sorrowful blue eyes.

“I am sorry I failed you.”

Lucifer shook his head.

“Thaddeus was a good soldier. He was bold, decisive, and extremely devoted to our cause. His is a loss that we will struggle to recover from. Our numbers were so few to begin with.”

Lucifer paused. He removed his hand from Gadreel’s chin, fingers briefly grazing the collar Gadreel still wore. Removing collars without the aid of humans was a tricky business, and Lucifer hadn’t had the opportunity to begin assessing Gadreel’s before the mission.

Gadreel knew better than to move without permission, and stayed where he was, gazing straight ahead even as Lucifer moved out of eyeshot, walking around behind Gadreel.

“Many of the angels here voted for your execution,” Lucifer said, from somewhere behind Gadreel’s left shoulder.

“It’s no more than I deserve,” Gadreel said.

“Perhaps,” Lucifer said. “But I have something else in mind for you. What say you to that?”

“I— I thank you for your mercy, brother.”

“I can’t help but notice how angels always seem to be dying around you, Gadreel. First it was your companion, Abner. The two of you were to be Bonded, is that correct?”

“We…we had hoped…if we had been able to escape. It wasn’t something that our Master would have permitted, otherwise.”

“But during the fight for your freedom, Abner was wounded.”

“We had devised a plan to take our freedom. It would have been a success, but Master had procured a celestial blade, unbeknownst to us. Abner sustained several devastating wounds while trying…trying to protect me.”

“And you left him.”

Gadreel closed his eyes. He saw the flames, the destruction of the barracks he and Abner had shared. He was pinned against the wall, hobbled by his collar. He saw the angel blade flash above him, and then Abner was there, throwing himself between Gadreel and the blade, knocking him out of the way. He saw Abner’s eyes widen as the blade plunged into his grace. Saw Abner on the cold concrete floor. Blood pooled beneath him, while grace poured into the air around him. _“Don’t leave me, brother, please.”_

“Gadreel.”

“Yes,” Gadreel whispered. “I left him.”

“You found your way to us,” Lucifer said. “We took you in. Gave you the opportunity to repent. To atone. We trusted you with a crucial mission. You insisted you were ready. What went wrong?”

Gadreel drew in a deep breath.

“We had anticipated that the humans would be armed with angelic weapons. We were prepared. Where we misjudged was their knowledge of Enochian. We thought we had the upper hand, and were nearly ready to depart, when one of them hit us with a disabling spell. I was affected more, a result of my collar. I fell; told Thaddeus to go, to leave me. He became enraged and managed to fight through the spell binding him to smite the human who cast it. While he was thus occupied, another human was able to come up from behind with a blade. By the time I was released from the spell it was too late. Thaddeus was dying, and I was wounded.”

“And you left him.”

“Yes.” It was all Gadreel could do to force the words from his throat. “I left him.”

Lucifer fell silent, and Gadreel wondered if he might change his mind, and decide to execute him after all. He almost wished for it, after reliving the horrors of those two days. Of his uselessness. His cowardice. Would it make a difference, he mused, if he begged for death? Or would it seem as though he was challenging Lucifer’s decision?

Lucifer moved back into Gadreel’s line of sight, one hand at his side, the other stroking his collarless neck.

“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “Angels do seem to die in your presence. Which makes you the perfect one to undertake this mission.”

Gadreel’s eyes widened. He was to be trusted with another mission?

“Have you ever heard the name Castiel?” Lucifer asked.

“I have not,” Gadreel said, hoping that his ignorance would not give Lucifer cause to change his mind.

Lucifer stilled, tilting his head to the side, watching him intently.

“Tell me, Gadreel, what is the objective of we, the Freedom Warriors?”

Gadreel blinked, a little startled by the sudden shift in topic.

“To overthrow the humans,” he said, after a pause. “To free our enslaved brothers and sisters, and restore to us what our father has denied us; what is rightfully ours.”

“Very good,” Lucifer said. “And what would you think of an angel who chose…chose, mind you…to align himself with humans? To actively work with humans to continue to ensure that angels remain under the control of their owners?”

He stared at Gadreel, clearly expecting an answer.

“This angel you speak of… is Castiel?”

“Yes,” Lucifer said. “And if all that weren’t bad enough, Castiel has further debased himself by allowing himself to be Bonded to a human.”

“Bonded to— that cannot be.”

Gadreel’s grace roiled within him at the thought of an angel willingly giving himself over so completely to a human.

“Do you doubt my words, brother?”

“No, no I would never. It’s just….”

“I know,” Lucifer said. “I don’t want to believe that one of our own would dishonor us all in such a manner. But it’s the truth. Multiple sources have confirmed it. And that’s not the worst of it.”

Gadreel shifted uncomfortably where he knelt. What could possibly be worse than Castiel giving up a piece of his grace to a human? Worse than Castiel sullying himself by taking a piece of human soul inside of himself? Worse than Castiel divulging their most sacred rituals and secrets to a mere human?

“What’s worse,” Lucifer continued, as though Gadreel had voiced his questions aloud, “Is that, not only has Castiel allowed this angelic Bond to occur with a creature so unworthy, so far beneath him…but he’s also developed an appetite for the carnal pleasures that humans seem so partial to.”

Gadreel had never even known such a thing was possible. He braced himself as the memories washed over him. Memories of pain and humiliation. Of hot, stale breath against the back of his neck and slick stickiness between his thighs. So many angels had suffered because of human lust. And here was Castiel, ignoring all of that in favor of his own pleasure.

“You are quiet, brother,” Lucifer said, after a time.

Gadreel drew in a shaky breath.

“My mission…does it concern Castiel? Is he to be captured and brought back here?”

Lucifer shook his head, an air of sadness about him.

“I’m afraid Castiel is beyond help, at this point. He has fallen too far. He’s broken. No, Gadreel, your mission is to eliminate him.”

It took a minute for that so sink in; Lucifer’s previous remarks about Gadreel’s history making him uniquely qualified for this particular mission suddenly making sense. Gadreel bowed his head. He didn’t want to be responsible for the death of another angel, even one as depraved as Castiel. Lucifer began to speak again, and Gadreel struggled to focus.

“That’s only part of your mission, though. Before you take Castiel’s life, we need some information. Castiel and his human have aligned themselves with the so-called Free Angel Colonies scattered over the country. They use these colonies to control the angels they work with, promising them placements if they submit to orders. We need to learn the locations of these colonies, so that we can offer these angels _real_ freedom. A chance to take back what is rightfully ours.”

“And you believe Castiel will be willing to provide this information?”

A slow grin spread over Lucifer’s face.

“If we go about this the right way, he will.”

Lucifer lifted a hand, from which dangled a thick, densely engraved collar.

“I’m sure you won’t have heard, isolated as you have been this past week. But there is to be a large-scale angel auction taking place in the town where Castiel is residing. I’ve received word that Castiel’s human will be attending the event, ostensibly to enforce the so-called humane treatment of the angels. All we need to so is ensure that he sees you, and you’re in.”

“In?” Gadreel repeated, confused. “You intend for him to purchase me?”

“No,” Lucifer said. “Dean Winchester does not purchase angels from auctions. No, we need to make sure that you are seen, and that you are in poor enough condition that he will see fit to seize you. That is what this Winchester does. He takes angels from bad situations and makes them think that things are going to be better, that they will gain their freedom. And then, more often than not, they are simply placed with new Masters. And the cycle begins again.”

Something about the way Lucifer spoke of this man, this Winchester, seemed familiar.

“Have you encountered Dean Winchester before?” Gadreel asked.

The grin fell from Lucifer’s face, and his features hardened.

“That is none of your concern,” he said. “Your concern is your mission. Do you accept it?”

Gadreel didn’t hesitate. He had no choice if he were to have any hope at all of redemption.

“Yes, brother,” he said. “I accept.”

Lucifer inclined his head.

“Good,” he said. “I have faith that you will be successful in this endeavor. Otherwise….” he didn’t finish the thought, just trailed off. But Gadreel didn’t need him to spell it out. There would be no more chances. His failure meant his death.

Lucifer gave the collar in his hand a little shake.

“You will have to wear this in addition to the one you already have on, I’m afraid. All angels to be auctioned are fitted with trade collars to better allow their handlers to maintain control in the less structured environment of an auction. Wearing the two collars will make Winchester more likely to take notice of you, as well, as it will raise suspicion that you might have been stolen. Do you accept the collar?”

Gadreel nodded.

“Very good.”

Lucifer walked around behind Gadreel and fastened the collar’s buckle. Gadreel gasped, his hands automatically flying to his neck. He’d never worn such a high-powered collar before, and the stab of pain to his grace was intense. The combined strength of the two collars had him sagging after a few seconds…the amount of energy required to simply remain upright astonished Gadreel.

Lucifer studied Gadreel’s reaction to the new collar for a moment, but didn’t speak. After the initial adjustment, Gadreel attempted to straighten, clasping his hands in front of him to keep them away from the collar.

“We will give you a day or so to settle in, and then we will be in contact,” Lucifer said, as though nothing had happened. “We will send a message via bird, and you will use the same animal to send us your response. I am expecting you to have information on at least one of the colonies at that time, understood?”

“Yes,” Gadreel said.

Lucifer walked over to the door and stuck his head out into the hall.

“Theo, Malachi,” he said. “We’re ready for you, now.”

He stepped aside and allowed Theo and Malachi to enter the room.

“As we discussed,” Lucifer said. “It needs to look real.”

He left the room, closing the door behind him. Theo and Malachi approached, each shaking a celestial blade from his sleeve. Theo reached Gadreel first, and drew back his hand.

“This is for Thaddeus,” he said, and slammed the handle of his blade into Gadreel’s temple.

Gadreel pitched over sideways, collapsing under both the force of the blow and the two collars. He sluggishly lifted his head at the sound of Malachi’s boots on the concrete. His face, slightly blurred, came into view.

“I am really going to enjoy this,” he said, with a small smile.

And Gadreel, under the assault of blows from fists and slashes from blades, slowly felt himself slipping away.


	4. Abaddon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I spent last week attempting to write a chapter that just wasn't working. I initially wanted this chapter to be from Cas' POV, as I didn't want to go too long without checking in with either Cas or Dean. However, it just wasn't working out. Once I finally came to terms with that and scrapped the chapter, things started moving along again. Next chapter we'll be back with Cas and Dean :)
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who is reading, and extra special thanks to those who have commented or left kudos. It is much appreciated!

The crowd outside the courtroom was large enough that it nearly blocked the entrance. Abaddon hadn’t expected there to be such an interest in the appeals hearing of an old case, but prepared herself for the onslaught of questions nonetheless. She flipped her long, red hair over her shoulder and adjusted her hold on her briefcase, ready to spin the council’s ruling to her advantage, though that certainly hadn’t been the result delivered just seconds ago.

She paused expectantly just outside the door, but no one seemed to take any notice of her. As she got a closer look at the crowd, she realized it was comprised mostly of police officers, and that they all seemed to be filing into one of the conference rooms farther down the way.

“What’s happening?” she asked her assistant, Aldo, as he rushed over to her. He shrugged.

“Some Angel Task Force meeting,” he said, as they joined the flow of the crowd, inching along at a snail’s pace toward the exit. “Probably discussing that big auction that’s going to be taking place next week.”

“Oh, right,” Abaddon said. “The angel auction. I forgot that was happening.”

“You going?”

“Nope. As per Winchester’s latest edict, I’m on the watch list for angel ownership. I’m not allowed to participate in the sale or purchase of any angel, for any reason. I even had to get rid of the slaves I already owned. Slaves I paid good money for, I might add.”

She admitted (to herself, if no one else) that she’d gotten carried away that day about a year ago, in her desperation to prove that the angel on trial was a danger to humans. Losing the trial in that manner (it was the first she’d ever lost) had been bad enough, but it had been downright humiliating to have Dean Winchester appear on her doorstep, court order in hand, smug smile on his face, and remove her servants as though she were some common thug.

They drew even with the open door of the conference room and, over the heads of the officers flocking inside, Abaddon spotted the angel, Castiel, sitting in a chair on the platform in front of the room. He sat quietly, his hands in his lap, gazing calmly over the room as everyone found their seats. Nearly the entire department appeared to be there, and Abaddon wondered if there were any cops left on the streets.

She realized that she’d lingered too long, suddenly finding herself pinned under the scrutiny of Castiel’s piercing blue eyes. She turned away, only to come face to face with Castiel’s owner, Dean Winchester.

“Help you?” he asked, the words polite, but his tone just short of hostile.

Abaddon concentrated on keeping her expression impassive.

“Just trying to get to the exit,” she said. “It seems as though your officers are creating a bit of a fire hazard. Hate for you to be fined.”

Winchester waved a hand, indicating the rapidly emptying hallway.

“Everyone’s clearing out just fine,” he said. “Except you and your little friend, over there.” He tossed a wink in Aldo’s direction. Aldo glowered at him.

“Would you two like to join in?” Winchester offered, his face solemn for the most part, though Abaddon caught his lips twitch in a brief smirk. “We’re going over the protocol for humane treatment of angels in general, and during an auction specifically. You could probably use a refresher.”

Abaddon longed to tell him not to be so cocky…that winning one trial didn’t even come close to ensuring the protection of his murderous angel and that angel’s equally murderous brother. She wished she could tell him that Castiel’s entire line of angels ought to be stomped out, and that she’d personally see that it happened if it was the last thing she did.

A declaration like that in public, though, would only reflect badly on her, so Abaddon contented herself with glaring at Dean as she pushed past. She consoled herself with the thought of how she’d be able to work out her frustrations soon enough.

******

The angel screamed, a high, wordless cry. Abaddon withdrew her blade for a moment, just long enough to redirect her aim. She pressed the tip of the blade against the flesh of the angel’s chest as it sagged, gasping for breath. Wisps of glowing, blue/gray grace escaped from several of the new slashes on the angel’s body. Abaddon frowned. She’d have to stop, soon, to give the angel some time to recover before she continued her fun.

It could stand a little more, though. Abaddon put some pressure on the blade’s handle, smiling as it pierced the angel’s skin and it started to scream again. She pushed the blade deeper, slowly and carefully, until it made contact with the angel’s grace, but only just. She’d spent a lot of time mastering driving the angel blade to this perfect depth, causing maximum pain but not quite deep enough to kill.

The Enochian engraved chains that suspended her captive from the ceiling by its wrists clanked together as the angel arched its back in agony. Abaddon’s smile widened, and she withdrew her blade only when the red light mounted on the wall just behind the angel started to flash, signaling the ringing of the doorbell.

It was probably just as well, Abaddon reflected, as she observed the barely conscious angel hanging limply from the chains. She didn’t want to kill it just yet, not knowing when she’d be able to procure another. Abaddon set the angel blade carefully on the instrument tray on the opposite wall (best not to take chances, even with the angel weakened and completely bound) and began undoing the locks on the door.

Abaddon emerged into her living room. She gave the door a nudge with the toe of her shoe, and it closed with a soft click, blending seamlessly with the rest of the wall. The secret room had been in place when Abaddon had purchased the house, once used as a Prohibition speakeasy. The most recent owner, the realtor had been all too eager to divulge, was a magic enthusiast and used the room to house his tricks. Abaddon had made an offer on the house immediately. The room had only needed a few modifications to suit her purposes.

The doorbell rang again, audible now that Abaddon was on the other side of the secret door. Abaddon strode forward and peered through the peephole. A very petite, red haired woman clad in a sparkling evening gown stood on the stoop, just in front of a much younger man; tall, with attractively mussed dark hair. Abaddon suppressed a groan with difficulty. It was the MacLeods.

“Rowena. Gavin,” she said, opening the door and standing aside. “Please, come in and sit down. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Gavin said, taking a seat in the nearest chair. He wouldn’t meet Abaddon’s gaze, and his hands twisted in his lap. Abaddon sensed that coming here likely hadn’t been his idea.

Rowena crossed the room slowly, every movement purposeful, queenlike. She chose her chair carefully. Abaddon’s favorite, it turned out.

“Could I trouble you for a glass of wine, dearie?” she said, in her lilting Scottish accent. “My nerves are near frayed after such a long day.”

“Of course,” Abaddon said.

She withdrew to the kitchen and pulled wineglasses from the cupboard. She’d placed a bottle into the fridge to chill when she’d arrived home that evening in anticipation of Rowena’s arrival. She’d informed the woman of the council’s decision via phone in between appointments that afternoon, and knew that Rowena wasn’t going to take the news lying down.

Abaddon poured the wine (a vintage she knew Rowena disliked) and arranged the glasses on her antique, silver serving tray.

“Thank you,” Rowena said, accepting her glass.

Abaddon retreated to the sofa with her own, and waited. Rowena sipped her wine, a brief look of disgust marring her aristocratic features. Abaddon coughed into her hand, masking her sudden urge to laugh. Rowena dabbed her lips daintily with the linen napkin Abaddon had provided, and set her wineglass aside.

“I’m sure you know why Gavin and I are here,” Rowena said.

Abaddon nodded.

“And while I always appreciate a visit,” she said, “The council was very clear this time. The ruling is final. I’m sorry. I know how much you were hoping for justice.”

“Justice was a part of it, yes,” Rowena said. “But more than that…did you know my son, at all?”

“Not personally, no,” Abaddon said. “But I heard great things—“

“He was a bawbag,” Gavin broke in.

Abaddon stared at him. Whatever he’d said was obviously an insult, and it surprised her. He was always so quiet. She hadn’t thought him capable of such vehemence. Gavin continued to speak, staring at the pattern of the Oriental rug on the floor.

“He was a drunk. And a sadist. The things he did to me growing up—“

“That’s enough, Gavin,” Rowena said. “There’s no need to be troubling Ms. Knight with such sordid details. But suffice it to say, Fergus was a disgrace. In more than just his failings as a father. Truth be told, the family is better off without him.”

Abaddon couldn’t hide her shock. She’d spent the last six months bringing appeal after appeal before the council on behalf of these two, believing them to be grieving the loss of a father and son. She’d been reminded of herself just after the angel had taken her entire family. Only she hadn’t had anyone to fight for her. To avenge those she’d loved.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite—“ Abaddon began.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Rowena said. “I can’t have anyone thinking that we’d just allow the murder of one of the family to go unpunished. Especially when the murder was committed by an angel, of all things. It’s embarrassing, really.”

“So what you wanted was to send a message,” Abaddon said.

“Basically.” Rowena picked up her wineglass, examined the contents, and set it down again. “You cannot hurt the MacLeods and expect to get away with it. This angel, this…Gabriel…needs to be dealt with.”

“I understand,” Abaddon said. “But believe me when I tell you that we’ve exhausted our options with the council. The legal standing of angels has changed in the last year, after the trial of your son’s angel, Castiel. It’s becoming a lot easier for angels to be acquitted of violence against humans. We’re living in a scary time.”

“So, you’ve given up, then.”

Abaddon didn’t answer right away. She hated to admit defeat. Especially in another case tied to the angel Castiel. She looked away from Rowena, her gaze landing on the smooth, cream-colored wall concealing her secret door. An idea came to her.

“There may be another way,” she said, slowly.

Rowena narrowed her elaborately made up eyes.

“Go on,” she said. Even Gavin briefly looked up.

“I know that you are looking for a public execution, or at least some for of punishment,” Abaddon said. “But that’s impossible at this point.”

“So you’ve been saying,” Rowena said, starting to sound impatient.

“However, there is a way to make this angel pay. To send a message that the MacLeods are not to be trifled with. But, we must be discreet. Are you interested?”

“I’m willing to hear more,” Rowena said.

Abaddon set her wineglass onto the silver tray and stood up. She crossed the room to the secret door. A large Van Gogh print hung in the exact center of the wall. Abaddon removed it, revealing a sigil daubed in black paint.

“This is a cloaking sigil,” Abaddon explained. “Enochian. It makes what is behind this wall undetectable to angels. More traditional methods of insulation and soundproofing accomplishes the same thing for humans. Basically, unless you happen to be inside, this room does not exist.”

Gavin got to his feet.

“Room?” he repeated, clearly confused. “Where?”

Abaddon smiled. She ran her hand along the wall until she felt the subtle change in texture, and lightly pressed that point. The concealed latch sprang free, and the door swung open.

“Follow me,” Abaddon said.

She led them through the doorway and down a short, dimly lit passageway before entering the room. Rowena gasped at the sight of the angel chained in the center of the room. Abaddon had to admit the effect was extreme.

The angel’s flimsy garments hung in tatters after so many assaults with the blade. Its feet dragged along the ground; Abaddon had set the length of chain just long enough that the angel could support its weight by standing on its toes, if it so chose. In its weakened condition, it wasn’t able to do any more than simply dangle from its wrists. Its face was a mass of cuts and bruises, with deeper wounds from the various weapons from Abaddon’s collection over the rest of its body.

“What in the holy hell?” breathed Rowena.

“If it’s punishment you desire, I can make the angel pay,” Abaddon said. “I can inflict pain so powerful and excruciating that it won’t remember its own name. I can make it kneel before you and beg for your forgiveness. It won’t be the strong public message you wanted to send, but….” Abaddon trailed off.

“But it’s something,” Rowena finished. “Definitely something.”

“I’ve performed this service for a number of families,” Abaddon said. “More lately, as the official punishments just aren’t what they used to be. There’s a price, of course. But you’ll get your money’s worth, as you can see. I can provide updates on my progress with the angel, and photos. You and your grandson are even invited to watch a few sessions if you’d like. And, of course, I do take into consideration any preferences you might have for the types of punishment I deliver.”

Gavin had backed away during Abaddon’s speech; he was barely in the room at all, at that point. Rowena took no notice of him, instead continuing to stare at the battered angel contemplatively.

“There’s a spell,” she said. “We found it amongst Fergus’ papers. It…it compels an angel to manifest its wings.”

Abaddon had heard of such a spell, but she’d never been able to locate it. Oh, the endless possibilities the spell would afford her. She’d almost consider taking on the problem of the angel Gabriel for no fee other than the spell.

The faint sound of clinking metal cut Abaddon’s musings short. The angel had started to tremble, clearly not as unconscious as she’d initially thought.

“No,” it rasped. “No, please, I beg of you….”

“That’s enough,” Abaddon snapped. “Or you’ll be wishing that your biggest problem was me exposing your wings.”

The angel fell silent, though it continued to tremble, the clanking chains taking on an almost rhythmic quality.

“Grandmother,” Gavin’s voice sounded from the passageway. “I don’t know if we should get involved in something like this.”

“Hush,” Rowena said. “It’s unbecoming for a strapping young lad like yourself to be so squeamish.”

Rowena finally tore her eyes from the angel and looked around the room.

“It’s a wee bit cramped,” she said. “Doesn’t seem as though there’s room for more than one angel. How will you manage?”

Abaddon took up her angel blade.

“Cover your eyes,” she instructed Rowena and Gavin, and waited while they complied. Then, squeezing her own eyes shut, she swung the blade in a high, curving arc, burying it deep in the angel’s chest.

The angel uttered one last scream, and even from behind her closed lids, Abaddon could see the last brilliant flash of its grace. As the light faded, Abaddon cautiously opened her eyes and inspected the empty husk that had once been an angel. She heard Rowena and Gavin approach behind her.

“You’re in luck,” she said. “A spot just opened up.”


	5. Castiel

Castiel

“All set, Cas?” Dean said, clapping a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel leaned into the touch, brief as it was as the station was still filled with members of the Task Force. Even just a few seconds of contact with his mate helped to ease some of the pressure that built within his chest after hours apart.

“I am set,” Castiel said, forcing a smile while putting extra effort into maintaining his walls. The Auction was tomorrow, and of the two weeks the Task Force had spent preparing, this day had been by far the worst. But there was no need to bother Dean with how the preparations had affected him. Not when Dean had so much else to worry about.

So Cas shored up his walls, did his best to smile, and tried not to think about the film clips of past auctions they’d watched to familiarize the newer members of the Task Force with the behavior of angels and their handlers.

“Oh, damn, I forgot my notes in Bobby’s office,” Dean said, and lobbed the keys to the Impala in Castiel’s direction. “Want to start her up? I’ll be out in a second.”

“Alright,” Castiel said, neatly catching the keys in his left hand. He exited the building, toward where Baby’s sleek black lines gleamed in the parking lot, mentally going over the procedure to turn the vehicle on. Castiel was sure that it wasn’t meant to be as complicated as Dean made it out to be, but then, Dean was very particular about his car. It was only after the Bond that he’d even allowed Castiel to do even this much.

A loud crack exploded over the calm of the parking lot, and Castiel reflexively clutched at his shoulder, at the place Crowley had shot him a year before. His breath caught in his throat as memories flooded his consciousness. He managed to slam his shields up before the flashback completely took hold. It wouldn’t stop the flashes of pain and terror, but it would at least prevent Dean from experiencing them.

The parking lot melted away, and suddenly Castiel was chained to the filthy matress in Crowley’s basement, an Enochian bullet burning in his shoulder, the chain whip ripping through the flesh of his wings, Alastair’s stale breath in his face….

“Castiel.”

Castiel came back to earth with a gasp, sucking in a much needed lungful of air. The world spun sickeningly around him, and he threw out a hand to brace himself against the Impala. After a few deep breaths, he managed to turn toward the sound of the voice.

“Hello, Charlie, Jo,” he said, working to keep his voice steady as the two new Task Force members walked toward him hand in hand. Dating wasn’t technically allowed for officers in the same unit, but Jo and Charlie generally tried to be discreet, and those in charge had so far elected to look the other way. Charlie’s other hand was covering one ear, the other scrunched into her shoulder, a scowl on her face.

“Maybe try a muffler next time!” she called, as an ill maintained truck roared past and out of the parking lot. The source of the noise, Castiel realized belatedly. It was just the truck starting. There was no Crowley; no gun.

“We just wanted to make sure you were okay after that last video,” Jo said, ignoring both Charlie and the truck. “I didn’t…I mean, even after all I’ve seen this year on the task force, I had no idea. I can’t imagine what it’s like for an angel…” she trailed off, sending a pleading glance in Charlie’s direction.

“What she’s trying to say is that we’re here if you need anything,” Charlie put in. “Or if you wanted to talk.” Her eyes narrowed as she studied Castiel’s face. “You sure you’re okay? You look kinda pale.”

The car key dug into Castiel’s palm as his hand clenched at his side. He concentrated on regulating his breathing and heart rate, and slowly the world returned to focus around him, and he felt strong enough to step away from the support of the car.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“And we want you to know that what happened in that video… none of that is going to happen tomorrow,” Jo spoke up again. “We won’t let it.”

Castiel looked into their earnest, determined faces, and allowed himself a brief smile. Jo and Charlie meant well, he knew, and were processing things in their own human way, the only way they could. He was more than confident about the Task Force’s ability to prevent any overtly abusive behavior. The angel mistreatment they’d just witnessed on film, while horrifying, wasn’t what was bothering Castiel about the upcoming event, though he could certainly see how the two Task Force members had managed to come to that conclusion.

He thanked Charlie and Jo all the same, and returned the gesture when Charlie stepped forward with a friendly hug.

 

******

Gabriel and Aaron came over for dinner that night, as they did most Thursdays. That day was meant to be a celebration of sorts, as Gabriel’s case had been closed for once and for all. The meal was somber, however, as they were all preoccupied with thoughts of the auction. Gabriel and Aaron wouldn’t be attending, of course, but it was clear that the upcoming event still affected Gabriel, to the point that he only picked at the brownies Dean had made for dessert.

Dean stared at him with something akin to alarm as Gabriel pushed his plate away.

“Want me to pack a few of those up for you, buddy?” he asked.

“That would be great, Dean, thanks,” Aaron said, after it became clear that Gabriel wasn’t going to respond. “You sure you guys don’t want help with the dishes?”

“We’re fine,” Castiel said, collecting Aaron’s empty plate and reaching for Gabriel’s untouched one.

Dean dumped a large, Gabriel-sized pile of brownies on a plate and covered it with an aluminum foil shell.

“I gave you all the end pieces since you like those so much,” he said, setting the plate down in front of Gabriel. Castiel smiled from his position over the sink. The end pieces were Dean’s favorite, too, he knew.

Gabriel didn’t make a move toward the plate, or acknowledge that Dean has spoken at all. Aaron cleared his throat and picked up the brownies.

“Let’s get going, Gabe, huh? See if your flight time is affected by your passenger being loaded down with food.” Aaron dropped his free hand onto Gabriel’s shoulder and started to guide him up from his chair.

Gabriel exploded.

“Don’t you touch me!” he snarled, jumping up from his chair. “You may technically still own me, but you can’t order me around anymore. You agreed.”

The plate of brownies slipped from Aaron’s grasp as he jumped back, startled by Gabriel’s outburst. The plate hit the floor and shattered, glass and brownies flying everywhere.

“Gabe, what the hell?” Dean said.

Gabriel looked from Dean to the mess on the floor, and then sent a fleeting glance in Aaron’s direction before vanishing with a quiet rustle of feathers.

“What was that all about?” Dean said.

Aaron shrugged, not quite able to meet either Dean or Castiel’s eyes.

“I’ll go after him,” Castiel said, and spread his wings.

Even after a year, Castiel still wasn’t quite used to the freedom of being able to fly whenever or wherever he chose. He closed his eyes against the rush of the wind and turned his head up toward the setting sun as he traveled, too high and fast for the human eye to perceive, to the spot Gabriel liked to go to mediate.

It was a large rock structure that locals referred to as “Mushroom Rock.” As the name suggested, the rock was shaped like a large mushroom, with a relatively thin base, and a large, rounded top, some twenty feet off the ground. Gabriel sat in the center of the rounded top, his knees clasped to his chest, staring off into the distance as the sun started to sink toward the horizon. Castiel landed next to him and folded his wings.

“You found me,” Gabriel said.

“You are nothing if not predictable, brother,” Castiel said. “How many times a week do you come to this spot?”

Gabriel shrugged.

“I like it up here,” he said. “Sittin’ on top of a giant rockshroom. What could be better?”

Castiel settled down beside him, legs crossed. He plucked a speck of lint from the knee of his trousers.

“So,” Gabriel said, “Are they pissed?”

“Dean and Aaron?” Castiel said. “Of course not. Concerned. Confused. But not angry.”

Gabriel chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

“Concerned, confused,” he repeated. “I’m still not quite used to it, you know? Anger is easier. It’s familiar, at least.”

Crowley’s face, contorted in rage, took over Castiel’s thoughts. He could almost feel the sting of Crowley’s fist against his jaw, the chain whip flaying the flesh from his back, and the agony of feathers being torn from his wings. And then, he thought back to those first days with Dean, remembered through a haze of pain and fear. He hadn’t known how to respond to Dean’s kindness, what to do in the absence of wrath and violence.

“Yes,” Castiel said, sensing that the silence was going on for too long. “I understand.”

Gabriel turned to face him, a lock of honey brown hair falling over his forehead.

“You’ve never been, have you?” he said. “To an auction.”

“No,” Castiel said. “I haven’t.”

Gabriel sighed, and once more turned his gaze toward the setting sun. One hand rested against the false collar around his neck and the other was curled into a fist at his side.

“I’ve been to four,” he said, after a beat. “Each one was more and more awful. Beatings. Degradation. Being paraded around, presented specifically to appeal to humanities’ darkest desires… because after a few relinquishments, no respectable family would have me….” Gabriel trailed off; the words strangled and forced, no trace of his trademark ebullience.

Castiel sat in silence, waiting for him to continue. Gabriel drew in a deep breath.

“And after all that, you’d think any kind of rescue would be a blessing, right? I mean, I was on the execution block that last time. An angel who’s had more than three relinquishments is considered to be beyond redemption. After four, you’re done for. Full stop. They were circling me with the blade and the crowd was cheering… bloodthirsty little bastards, humans… and then Dean stepped up. _I’ll take this one_ , he said. And just like that, a reprieve.”

He didn’t sound happy about it, though. No, if anything, his voice became even more strained. And even though Castiel had never in his life experienced anything close to what Gabriel was describing, he understood. He placed a hand on the rough, sun-warmed surface of the rock beneath him, as if contact with the centuries old stone alone could ground him.

Gabriel uttered another humorless chuckle and threw his eyes heavenward.

“It was just so damn easy for him, you know?” he said. “So damn easy to just walk up there and take control of my whole life. I lived or died by Dean Winchester’s whim that day, and it was pure chance that he happened upon the execution at that moment. Others weren’t so lucky.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said.

“Maybe luck isn’t the right word,” Gabriel mused, his fingers tracing the altered sigils on his collar. “At least, if they’d gone through with the execution I’d be free from humans. No one would be making decisions for me, supposedly in my best interest. I wouldn’t have this… this thing with Aaron, this connection, whatever the hell you want to call it, that completely freaks me out.”

“You don’t mean that, brother,” Castiel said.

Gabriel’s golden-flecked eyes fixed on Castiel’s.

“I’m not going to off myself, if that’s what you mean,” he said. “I don’t have a death wish. But these humans having so much control over every aspect of my life… even under the guise of giving me more freedom… it’s getting more and more difficult to bear.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again, lowering his head in shame.

“None of this is your fault,” Gabriel said.

Castiel closed his eyes and brought the hand resting on the rock surface to his chest, where the small piece of Dean’s soul had melded with his grace. It was that fragment of humanity that proved Gabriel wrong. That fragment of humanity that meant, no matter how much Castiel tried to help his enslaved brothers and sisters, that he was also part of the problem, as well.

******

They flew back to Dean’s house a few minutes later. Dean and Aaron didn’t bother to hide their relief. Gabriel plastered a wide, false smile on his face.

“Sorry about the brownies, Dean-o,” Gabriel said. “And the plate,” he added, after spying the ceramic shards resting on the counter. He repaired the plate with a flick of his wrist.

“Well, I think I’ve caused enough mayhem here, for the night,” Gabriel said. “How’s about we get on back to Casa Aaron and see if there’s some of those ‘special’ brownies left over from the weekend?”

“Gabe,” Aaron said, peering into Gabriel’s eyes. “You sure you’re okay?”

Gabriel waved him away.

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Never better. Just had a little… moment, you know. It happens.”

“Just hold on a second, Gabriel,” Dean said, stepping forward. “You can tell us—“

“I’m good, I said.” Gabriel turned to Aaron. “Ready, buddy?” He laid a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, and the two disappeared before either Aaron or Dean could say anything more.

“Dammit,” Dean muttered.

“Gabriel just needs some time,” Castiel said, and looked out the window just in time to catch the first star winking into visibility in the growing dark. He moved a little closer to the front door. “I’d like to take a short walk,” he said. “Just around the perimeter of the yard. Make sure the bees are settled.”

Dean made as though to follow.

“No,” Castiel said. “Please, Dean. I think I need a little time, also.”

It was the first time since the Bond that Castiel had made such a request, and Castiel felt the stinging effect his rejection had on Dean just as keenly as the latter did. They’d been apart more than was normal for the throughout the course of that day, and more than anything, Castiel yearned to just curl up on the sofa with Dean and take comfort from his mate and the Bond.

He couldn’t risk letting Dean know how upset he was over the impending auction, and the part he was to take in it, however. Dean didn’t deserve to be burdened that way, especially over something beyond his power to change, something that he’d already worked so hard to make better. Castiel automatically put more energy into maintaining his wall. Dean noticed that, as well, and even through the wall, Castiel felt Dean’s hurt at being shut out yet again.

It was for Dean’s own good, though. And, throughout all of this, Castiel’s number one priority was to make sure that the Bond caused as little damage to Dean as possible.

“I won’t be long,” Castiel said softly. He waited until Dean gave a small nod of acknowledgement, then fled the house.

It was well past dusk, and any hint of the sun had well and truly disappeared for the day. Castiel’s eyes adjusted easily to the darkness, and he quickly crossed the yard to the hives. He could hear the hum of the contented bees within. The sound relaxed him.

He’d tried to put on a brave face about the auction. First, and foremost, for Dean, who was having his own troubles with the event. And also for the other human members of the task force, who looked at him with pity and sympathy at any mention of Dick Roman or the auction. And lastly, for Gabriel, who, despite being distracted by Abaddon’s repeated attempts to prosecute him, was also dealing with all of the memories and emotions that the prospect of a large slave auction had brought to the surface.

But Gabriel’s revelations about his experiences, and his giving voice to Castiel’s own misgivings about the amount of control humans exerted over angels, even those humans whose intentions were good….

Castiel thought back to the film they’d been shown earlier that day. Its purpose was to initiate the novices on the Task Force to the forms of angel abuse that had been common at auctions in the past, and to illustrate how vital it was to implement Dean’s Humane Handling practices.

It wasn’t the abuses and tortures that the angels in the film had endured, though that had been difficult to watch, certainly. It was the attitude of all the humans, even Dean, to a certain extent, about their role in the lives of angels. Of how, even when they thought they were being kind, they continued to miss the point of what it truly meant to have such control over the lives of others.

******

Castiel heard the shower running upstairs as he entered the kitchen. The mess from dinner had been cleared away, and most of the lights had been turned off, save the essential few that lighted the path from the front door to the stairs. Castiel smiled at Dean’s continued insistence of leaving lights on for him, appreciating the gesture, no matter how unnecessary.

The dull ache just below his sternum, always present if he was away from Dean, gave an insistent throb. Castiel paused for a moment, ensuring that his walls were in place, that Dean wouldn’t be subjected to his worries about the coming week, and then lifted his wings for the brief flight to the second floor bathroom.

He landed naked in the shower, just inches in front of Dean, who was in the process of rinsing the last traces of shampoo from his hair. The citrusy scent lingered in the steamy mist inside the shower. Dean tipped his head back into the spray, exposing the tanned column of his throat, and Castiel’s breath caught.

Dean’s eyes popped open at the sound, and he straightened.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, quietly. The hurt of Castiel’s earlier rejection was still there, as was a new uncertainty. Dean, for probably the first time in his life, wasn’t sure what to say or do.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said. The pain in his chest became more insistent, overwhelming all other thought save his need to be in contact with Dean, and at the same time they both took a step forward, almost melting into each other’s arms. They stood like that for several minutes, warm water beating down on their shoulders, basking in the contact after a day apart.

Dean drew in a deep breath, his back rising under Castiel’s palms, and slowly exhaled, his breath tickling the nape of Castiel’s neck. Confusion and hurt still permeated the Bond. Still concentrating on maintaining his wall, Castiel deliberately sent a wave of warmth and love toward Dean. He didn’t want Dean feeling bad, didn’t want Dean thinking that he was the cause of Castiel’s recent withdrawal.

The effect was instantaneous. Dean relaxed and leaned more of his weight onto Castiel. Castiel shivered and reached for the soap with one hand, keeping the other in firm contact with Dean’s skin, continuing to project affection and reassurance. He wet the soap in the shower spray and began building a lather over Dean’s shoulders, kneading at the tightness that always seemed to settle there when Dean was stressed or anxious.

Dean sighed and pressed his wet lips to the side of Castiel’s neck, his tongue and teeth teasing at the sensitive skin just below his jawline. Castiel continued working his way down Dean’s back and sides with the soap, firmly massaging in the way he knew Dean liked, and all the while keeping as much full body contact as possible, as after an entire day of separation, the Bond would accept nothing less.

Dean licked his way up Castiel’s neck, giving a quick nip just behind Castiel’s earlobe, and the jolt of pleasure went straight to Castiel’s cock. He wanted to back up slightly, just enough to bring their lips together for a real kiss, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away even that little bit. Instead, he closed his eyes, his soapy hands mapping out the familiar dips and contours of Dean’s naked body.

Slowly, Castiel worked his way downward, smoothing his hands over the swell of Dean’s buttocks and resting his hands on Dean’s hips. He gave a gentle tug forward, rolling his own hips at the same time. As their groins brushed together, Dean let out a satisfied hum, his lips still fused to Castiel’s neck.

Castiel dropped his guard ever so slightly, just enough so that the two of them could fully share the sensations zinging through each other’s bodies, and rolled his hips forward again. He felt Dean’s heart rate increase as well as the vibrations on his own skin as Dean hummed again against Castiel’s neck.

Finished soaping Dean’s backside, Castiel took a half step back, holding Dean in place. Before either Dean or the Bond could protest, he spun Dean around, supporting him as his feet slipped a little on the slick surface of the tub. It was only a fraction of a second before they were connected once again, this time with Dean’s back flush against Castiel’s chest. Dean tipped his head back against Castiel’s shoulder, his eyes closed to avoid the spray of water. Castiel pecked a kiss on the bolt of Dean’s jaw and took up the soap again, lathering up Dean’s arms and chest. Tendrils of steam rose around them, and condensation beaded on the frosted glass window opposite the showerhead.

Dean angled his head slightly down and to the side, eyes still closed. Castiel received the kiss with his lips slightly parted, heat starting to build below his belly as their tongues intertwined. His hands drifted lower, deliberating avoiding Dean’s groin until he had thoroughly lathered every other bit of Dean he could reach.

He lingered over the flat planes of Dean’s lower abdomen and the curving arcs of his hipbones. Castiel’s fingers splayed, covering as much of Dean’s warm, wet skin as possible. He moved his palm in slow circles, drawing gradually closer to his goal. Dean whimpered as Castiel’s pinky finger brushed over the thatch of dark hair below his hips. Castiel tipped his head up, capturing Dean’s lips and swallowing the sound as his soapy hand closed around Dean’s already semi-erect cock.

Dean moaned into Castiel’s mouth, and in response, Castiel increased the pressure of his free hand, pressing their bodies even more firmly together. Castiel’s hardening length bumped and slid along Dean’s crack, settling into the space just beneath Dean’s buttocks. Castiel found a rhythm of strokes of his palm and thrusts of his hips. Dean clapped a hand over where Castiel’s was spread over his chest, and Dean’s deep breaths became sharp, short gasps.

Carefully pulling back his walls ever so slightly, Castiel allowed Dean’s pleasure to wash over him, and made sure that Dean was experiencing his own delight. He felt Dean’s cock twitch in his hand, and looked over Dean’s shoulder to see a bead of precome escape from the slit to mingle with the soap and water already coating the shaft.

Spinning Dean around again, Castiel pushed him back into the spray, rinsing the suds from his body. Dean’s hands gripped Castiel’s forearms, and his eyes opened lazily as warm water cascaded over his shoulders. Castiel smiled, disentangling himself from Dean’s grasp and dropping to his knees. Dean’s hands came to rest gently on Castiel’s shoulders as Castiel took Dean into his mouth.

He swallowed Dean down, then pulled back, swirled his tongue around the tip, then swallowed him down again. Dean’s breathing grew more irregular, and his grip on Castiel’s shoulders tightened. Eventually, Dean’s hands began to migrate, moving off of Castiel’s shoulders and brushing over his shoulder blades, again and again.

The urge to manifest his wings was very nearly overwhelming, and Castiel had to pull off and rest his head on Dean’s hipbone, taking deep breaths to steady himself. Experience had taught them both that wings in the shower would only lead to disaster.

“S-sorry,” Dean gasped from above him. “Just got carried away.”

Castiel took one last deep breath and, sure that he had regained control of his wings, reached up and guided Dean’s cock back to his mouth. Dean groaned and involuntarily bucked his hips forward. Slacking his jaw to accommodate Dean’s movements, Castiel lifted his hands and grasped Dean’s, twining their fingers together. He bobbed his head, massaging Dean’s cock with lips and tongue, never letting go of Dean’s hands.

He looked up at Dean through the shadows of his lashes and the rising steam. Dean’s face was flushed, eyes closed, and lips moving in a silent litany of various curse words interspersed with Castiel’s name that Castiel heard inside his head, though not aloud. He felt Dean’s impending orgasm as though it were his own and backed off just a touch.

Castiel didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite so beautiful as Dean, fully surrendered to his desire, head thrown back, water sluicing down his naked body. He didn’t want it to end, though he also didn’t want to cause Dean any distress. He held back until he felt Dean on the brink between ultimate pleasure and frustration, and then tore his eyes away from Dean’s face and hollowed his cheeks, slurping and sucking with vigor.

Dean came with a wordless cry, deep in Castiel’s throat. Castiel freed his hands and braced himself on Dean’s thighs, concentrating on licking Dean clean as he gradually softened in Castiel’s mouth. He pulled off when it all became too much for Dean, and got to his feet. Dean immediately yanked him forward, crushing their lips together. His hand found Castiel’s erection, and it only took a few quick strokes to bring Castiel to orgasm, Dean’s name a whisper between them.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean said, once he’d caught his breath enough to speak.

“Maybe later,” Castiel said, because he knew Dean enjoyed that particular joke, and sure enough, Castiel was rewarded with a little huff of laughter as Dean straightened and pivoted, turning the water off. They stood, staring at each other as the steam dissipated around them. A tiny droplet of water collected on Dean’s eyelashes, and after a few moments of waiting for it to fall, Castiel reached out and gently brushed it away. Dean turned his head and pressed a kiss to Castiel’s palm as Castiel lowered his hand.

“I love you,” Castiel heard himself say.

Dean’s head snapped up and his eyes widened. Castiel felt his confusion. They’d never felt the need to say the words aloud, not since the Bond. There’d been no need. They could sense it, _feel_ it, every moment of every day.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean said, automatically, it seemed.

He brushed his lips against Castiel’s, and then gabbed a towel, winding it around his waist.

“I’ll meet you in the bedroom,” Dean said. “Be just a minute, okay?”

******

Castiel and Dean lay curled up together in bed. Castiel had his wings out and wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, and Dean absently stroked the long flight feathers. They hadn’t spoken since the _I love you’s_ in the bathroom. Castiel traced his fingers over Dean’s clavicle. Normally, he would have devoted his full attention to the patterns he outlined on Dean’s soft skin, but he found himself having a hard time concentrating tonight. He wasn’t surprised, not really, and put a little extra effort into maintaining his walls. There was no reason for Dean to have to bear the burden of his uncertainties.

“You ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Dean asked, suddenly.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said.

Dean shifted a bit, and his hand stilled on Castiel’s wing.

“You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.

“Dean. Of course I do,” Castiel said.

“Really. That’s why you’ve been putting up these walls, thicker every day, it seems, to the point where you actually have to say the ‘L’ word out loud. Out loud, Cas, for the first time since we did this whole soul/grace swap. What the hell?”

“It’s not you—“

“And don’t give me the it’s not you it’s me bullshit. Don’t turn this into a goddamn RomCom cliché.”

The Bond vibrated with the force of Dean’s hurt and anger. Castiel winced, and felt Dean take a deep breath.

“I’m not mad,” he said. “Not really, and if you can’t feel that, Cas, that’s gotta tell you something. You have to tell me what’s wrong, man. You have to let me in. That’s what this whole Bond thing is about.”

That’s where Dean was wrong. Humans and angels were never meant to Bond like this. When angels Bonded, there was no conflict. There was no need to worry about misunderstandings or hurt feelings. Angels shared everything, and were privy to each other’s every thought and feeling, even when physically separated. It strengthened them both.

Castiel couldn’t imagine the anguish he would cause Dean if he allowed him to experience everything. In those early days of the Bond, Dean had much difficulty processing Castiel’s every thought and feeling as if they were his own. And that was just concerning the mundane, the every day. Dean became even more distressed the first time Castiel experienced a flashback to his time with Crowley after the Bond. Castiel learned quickly to lock certain thoughts and feelings away, for Dean’s sake. Over time, it became easier to hide things from him, though the Bond protested. It became even more necessary as the auction drew nearer.

There was no way Castiel would ever subject Dean to his feelings of resentment toward humans for their treatment of angles, even those who thought they were doing good. Even members of the Task Force. Even, sometimes, Dean himself.

Castiel dropped his head onto Dean’s shoulder and nuzzled his neck, sending a wave of affection his way. He nearly gasped when he felt Dean reject it, pushing it right back at him.

“You can’t distract me like that forever,” Dean said. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong. Is it the thing with Gabriel? Is the auction tomorrow? Is it something else stupid I’ve done?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel murmured.

“You have to let me help you, Cas,” Dean said. “It’s kind of killing me a little, that I can’t at least do that much for my mate, you know?”

Castiel recognized the hyperbole. Dean wasn’t actually dying. He’d be able to feel that, walls be damned. Involuntarily, Castiel’s wings tightened around Dean, and Castiel froze, wondering if Dean would try to shrug him off or otherwise resist this as well. He heard Dean’s soft sigh, felt his resignation. He hated it, but knew that this would be easier for Dean to bear than the alternative, in the long run.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Yeah,” Dean said after a while. “Me, too, Cas.”

******

Fear permeated the air, the trees, even the dust under their feet. It was everywhere, all over the Fairgrounds, and Castiel marveled that these humans, those members of the Task Force especially, couldn’t feel it.

Angels were everywhere. Some waited in stalls in the large barns designed for livestock. Others were being paraded around; shown off to potential buyers. The auctioneer’s voice boomed over the entire property from where a crowd gathered in front of one of the stages. Sometimes in pairs or small groups, but mostly individually, angels were led onto the stage for buyers to bid on. The one thing they all had in common was quaking, sickening, fear.

Even with Castiel’s walls up, Dean sensed his distress and stayed close, offering brief touches when he could get away with it. They hadn’t really spoken since the previous night, and Castiel knew that Dean was still upset about being shut out.

Castiel’s attention was drawn to a group of fledglings, no more than five or six years old, as they were led across the grounds.

“They’re up in an hour!” sang out their handler. “As young as they come, easy to mold to suit your purposes. They’ll go fast, so be ready!”

The young angels huddled together, some of them fingering what had to be recently fitted collars. They hadn’t yet learned to mask the pain that the grace suppressing spells caused, and they moved stiffly, haltingly.

A small crowd gathered around the young ones.

“Daddy, look at the widdle baby angels!” cried out a young human girl, clutching her father’s hand. “I want one!”

“We’ll see,” the man said. “What we really need is a well-trained adult—“

“But I want that one!” the child screeched, pointing at the smallest angel of the bunch, a female with long blond curls and gray/blue eyes.

The fledgling shrank away from the girl’s outstretched finger.

“Now, stop that,” her handler snapped. “Do you want them to think you’re nervy? Stand up straight. Quick now, or I’ll really give you something to cringe about.”

Dean growled low in his throat and strode over to the group. Castiel followed, taking care to keep his eyes downcast, and at least half a step behind Dean. Anything else would have looked suspicious in this setting.

“Sir,” Dean said, upon reaching the handler, and Castiel was shocked at how cool and professional he sounded compared to what Castiel could feel of his emotions. “You are violation of the Humane Handling Protocols. Threats against angels are not permitted. This is your warning. Next violation you will be expelled from the grounds.”

The handler grumbled, but didn’t protest. Dean turned to the little girl.

“I think I saw some ice cream in that building across the way,” he said, pointing. The distraction worked, and the girl turned away from the fledglings.

“Daddy, I want ice cream!” she declared.

Dean faced the crowd.

“All right, folks,” he said. “If you want to bid on any of these angels, I suggest you show up at the auction stage in one hour. Until then, let’s keep this area clear, okay?”

The crowd dispersed. Dean was immediately converged upon by several different groups of Task Force members, each with their own concerns and questions. Castiel withdrew a few paces, not wanting to further burden Dean. He somehow became caught up in a swiftly moving crowd. Deciding to go along rather than draw attention, Castiel moved with the throng of humans and angels, eventually realizing that he was headed in the direction of the stage.

The crowd separated as it reached the bleachers, scattering in all directions. Castiel stood quietly behind the last row of spectators. No one paid him any mind. He lowered his walls enough so that Dean would be aware of his location and not worry, and turned his attention toward what was happening on stage.

“Next up for bid,” the auctioneer boomed, and a handler shoved the angel standing next to him to the center of the stage. The angel looked around with wide eyes, clearly unused to such noise and commotion. He stood quietly on the red colored ‘X’ on stage, his hands folded in front of him. But Castiel could sense his anxiety, and an undertone of sorrow, as well.

“Here we have a mature male,” the auctioneer read from his notes. “Only lightly used. He was purchased as a fledgling by an elderly woman, and he remained in her care until her demise just a week ago. I’m told he has impeccable manners, though he’s been a bit mopey of late. Should be pretty easy to snap him out of. Starting bid at two thousand.”

Hands began to rise in the crowd, and the auctioneer started calling out numbers almost faster than Castiel could process.

“It’s so sad, isn’t it?” came a voice from Castiel’s left. He jumped slightly, and turned to find Charlie beside him.

“Sorry to startle you,” she said. “Dean had me come and check on you.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel said. “And yes, it is quite sad.” The word seemed inadequate to describe what was actually happening.

“He lives his whole life with a little old lady. Probably, I dunno, making her tea and watching soap operas with her. And now he’s thrown into this shit show. And who knows where he’ll end up,” Charlie said, leaning against the post she stood next to and crossing her arms.

“He’s grieving, also,” Castiel said.

“Grieving?” Charlie said. “Like, he’s got a mate somewhere?”

“No, he’s grieving his owner.”

Charlie squinted up at him.

“That happens?” she asked.

“Of course,” Castiel said. “Angels are social just like you humans. We form bonds. Ideally those bonds are first and foremost with our own kind, but we bond with humans and others as well. Especially with an angel so isolated as this, his owner would have been the only being he could have had any kind of connection to.”

Charlie scuffed her toe in the dirt. Onstage, the auctioneer paused briefly and then announced,

“Sold! To the gentleman in the third row, for five thousand. You may proceed to the left and arrange your payment and collect your property.”

“I guess I never thought of it like that,” Charlie said. “I guess I always assumed that the loyalty angels showed their owners was out of a sense of duty and coercion. I never realized there was actual affection, there. I mean, except in rare cases like you and Dean.”

“It does tend to complicate things,” Castiel said.

He and Charlie watched as the middle-aged man in the brown coat give a dismissive wave. There were other angels he wanted to bid on, and would settle up when he was finished. His much younger wife simpered at his side and batted her eyelashes at the angel as he was led offstage.

“This is so wrong,” Charlie said. “Not just this auction, but the industry in general.”

Such an obvious pronouncement didn’t seem to require a response, and so Castiel remained silent as the next angel, a female, was brought up onto the stage.

“I mean, it seemed like we were finally making headway, you know?” Charlie continued. “And these past few weeks…it’s like everything is going backwards.”

The auctioneer shuffled his notes and began to speak,

“Look what we have here! Mature female, fully trained by the prestigious Campbell Family Angel Trainers. Has been in her current situation since being purchased from the Campbells, and is up for sale due to downsizing. I guess there is such a thing as too many angels, huh, folks!”

There was a smattering of polite laughter. When it died down, the auctioneer continued,

“This lovely little specimen here is trained in all domestic tasks, and, I’m told, is exceptionally talented at pleasing her owner in any way required.” The auctioneer paused and gave an exaggerated wink. “If you know what I mean.”

More titters from the audience, and Castiel noticed that a certain subset, mainly middle-aged to older males, began readying their numbered paddles.

“Oh, gross,” Charlie said. “I’m going to shut that shit down right now.”

She levered herself away from the post and managed about half a step before Castiel laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Stop,” he said. “Nothing illegal has happened, here.”

“Were you not listening just now?”

Castiel tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He should let her go. Let her run up to the stage and disrupt the proceedings. It would be satisfying, even if only for a few minutes. But then what? The auction would proceed as planned. This angel, with her hollow cheeks and empty eyes, would still be sold into horrors that Castiel was all too familiar with. Perhaps she would even be punished for the interruption, as though she had any control over what Charlie was about to do.

“I didn’t say it was right,” Castiel said, keeping his voice down, mindful of the company they were in. He quickly dropped his hand, lest someone see and think he was forgetting his place. “But it’s legal. The only thing you will accomplish by interrupting is to tarnish the Task Force’s reputation.”

Charlie stopped her forward momentum, but her hands were still balled into fists, and she didn’t resume her reclining position against the post.

“How can you be so calm, Cas?” she asked.

“Sold!” the auctioneer crowed, and the buyer practically leapt out of his seat, his eyes fixed on the angel, lips slightly parted.

The angel was led off the stage, and instead of going straight toward the money-changer, the buyer met the handler at the stairs, grabbed the angel by the arm, and pulled her roughly to him. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat, and black spots dotted his vision.

_A hand clamped down on his wing, digging between feathers and pinching the skin beneath. Hot, stale breath hit his cheek as Alastair hooked his chin over Castiel’s shoulder._

_“Looks like you’re mine for the day, angel,” he drawled, jerking Castiel back against his chest, one hand keeping him in place while the other possessively pulled on Castiel’s wings, flattening them unnaturally against his back. “And even though your Master gave me a general idea of how he wanted me to punish you, he left me enough leeway to be… creative.”_

_Castiel gave a strangled cry as the hand on his wing closed over a group of feathers and tugged. Several came loose in Alastair’s hand, and he chuckled in Castiel’s ear, waving the feathers in front of Castiel’s face for a moment before letting them float to the floor of the cell._

_Castiel’s eyes tracked the movement, and he was completely taken by surprise as Alastair’s forearm snaked across his throat, just above his collar. He yanked Castiel’s upper body up off of the mattress as he drove into him from behind, grabbing another fistful of feathers with is other hand, his high, cruel laugh ringing in Castiel’s ears…._

A hand dropped onto Castiel’s shoulder, shaking gently. Castiel gradually became aware of a voice, not Alastair’s, calling his name over and over again.

“Castiel!”

In one fluid motion, Castiel smacked the hand off of his body and stumbled to the side.

“Hey, Castiel, it’s okay,” the voice followed him, but there was no more attempt to touch.

The fairgrounds came into focus around him, and he welcomed the blinding sunlight reflecting off the metal gate to his right, so different from the muted dark of his cell in Master’s basement. Charlie’s wide, worried eyes swam into focus just in front of him, and her small, white hands hovered just inches away.

“Cas,” she said again, and even without any sort of Bond, he could almost feel her relief when he at last managed to focus his eyes on hers.

“I’ll get Dean,” she said, fumbling her cell phone out of her pocket.

“No,” Castiel managed to force out. His walls were intact, and he put a little extra effort into maintaining them, just in case. There was no need to trouble Dean with this.

Charlie paused, her thumb poised to swipe over the phone’s screen.

“No?” she repeated. “Cas, you like, blacked out or something. You were _gone_. I think Dean needs to—“

“No,” Castiel said again. It was all he could manage as he struggled to catch his breath.

People around them were beginning to take notice, even as the next angel was brought up onstage. It was the little blonde fledgling from earlier. Her hands clutched at her collar, and her terror was palpable. The dizziness threatened to overwhelm him again, and Charlie reached out a steadying hand.

“Don’t,” Castiel warned, and took a shaky step to one side, putting a little more distance between them.

A fat, balding man broke away from the group of spectators and approached.

“This angel giving you trouble, ma’am?” he said to Charlie, sidling up next to her with a leer. “I can handle him for you, if you want.”

“Mind your business, and I’ll handle mine,” Charlie snapped, flashing her badge and glaring after the man as he slunk away.

Castiel took a deep breath. He was making a scene, and the last thing he needed was to draw attention.

“Put your hands on your knees,” came Charlie’s voice from somewhere to his left. “Head down. And just breathe.”

Castiel followed the directions, slowly managing to regain control of his body. It had been a long time since a flashback had affected him so strongly. It must be due to the environment, the whirling emotions of fear and horror and uncertainty projected by the angels around him.

“Please let me call Dean,” Charlie said. “He’ll never forgive me if something happens to you.”

Castiel straightened, and squared his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

Charlie didn’t look entirely convinced, but slipped her phone into her pocket all the same.

“Well, let’s get out of here, at least,” she said. “Go somewhere where there’s a little less going on, get some air.”

Castiel threw one last glance over to the stage, where the fledgling stood, trembling, and turned away. There was nothing he could do, here. There was nothing he could do for any of these angels. They were at the mercy of fate, for better or for worse. Mostly for worse. And Castiel was completely powerless to help. To prevent what had happened to him from happening to any one of these angels. Dean’s precautions meant nothing. His humane handling protocol only meant that the abuse would be driven farther underground.

Bile rose in his throat, and he turned away from Charlie and gagged. Charlie was at his side in an instant, though she thankfully didn’t try to touch him this time.

“Hey,” she said, hesitantly.

He swallowed heavily.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, let’s go.”

******

They walked around the outskirts of the fairgrounds in silence. Near the end of their second lap, they came across Dean, who was giving instructions to a group of Task Force members near the refreshment tent.

“All set?” he finished, and the officers nodded, each going their separate ways.

Charlie waved at him to get his attention, and he jogged over to them.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, bumping their shoulders together briefly.

Castiel closed his eyes and took comfort from those few seconds of contact. The pain that had been building in his chest eased, somewhat, at Dean’s proximity. He felt the same relief from Dean.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked, rubbing at his breastbone and looking at Castiel with concern.

Castiel bit the inside of his cheek. Either his walls were getting weaker, or Dean’s will was getting stronger.

“Or,” Dean said, as if Castiel had spoken aloud, “You look like a pale, sweaty piece of garbage. What happened?”

Charlie looked back and forth from one to the other.

“Castiel just got a little overwhelmed, back there,” she said, gesturing carelessly behind her in no particular direction. “We were just walking it off.”

“Yes,” Castiel echoed. “Just a little overwhelmed.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth…whether to protest or ask more questions Castiel never found out, for at that moment Jo ran up to them, breathless.

“Detective Winchester,” she gasped. “You need to come to the main barn. Now.”

The urgency of that last word was plain, and enough to distract Dean from Castiel.

“What happened?” he said.

“There’s an angel…it’s bad. Please, you just have to go.”

Dean turned to Castiel.

“Cas, you wanna just stay with—“

“I’m coming,” Castiel said, and strode out ahead of Dean, in the direction of the barns.

Dean caught up easily and fell into step beside him, their hands brushing with each stride. He didn’t speak, and Castiel made sure Dean felt his gratitude.

“Yeah, you’re always just thrilled when I leave shit alone,” Dean grumbled at his side.

Castiel quickly snuck a peek back toward Charlie and Jo, and saw they were occupied whispering to each other and had fallen a good distance behind. He took the chance and grasped Dean’s hand in his own, squeezing tight. Dean took things a step farther and raised their clasped hands and brushed his lips over their knuckles.

“Later,” he murmured against Castiel’s skin. “Later we’re gonna talk.”

They separated, then, upon coming across a group of handlers with their angels. The handlers, occupied with their charges, didn’t seem to even be aware of Castiel and Dean’s presence, let alone the inappropriate contact.

A large crowd had gathered at the entrance of the main barn, and had spilled out through the wide, double doors. Dean politely, but firmly pushed his way through, flashing his badge with one hand and keeping a firm grip on Castiel’s bicep with the other. It looked, Castiel realized, as though Dean was keeping him in check, controlling where he went. In fact, they were both taking what comfort they could from the contact, steeling themselves for what they were about to encounter.

Dean at last managed to get them through to the head of the crowd. He stopped short at the door of one of the stalls, so suddenly that Castiel nearly ran into him.

“Charlie, Jo,” he said, tersely. “Get these people out of here.”

“Yes, sir,” Jo said.

“Right away,” Charlie said, and they both took off in opposite directions.

“Cas,” Dean said, “You sure—“

“Dean. Let me pass.”

The crowd, thanks to Jo and Charlie’s efforts, thinned. Castiel was, at last, able to see inside the stall as Dean stepped aside.

A male angel lay on his side on the concrete floor. The straw bedding seemed to have been purposely pushed aside in order to deny the angel even that small comfort. His face, hands, and clothes were soaked in blood. His face was a mess of bruises and lacerations, to the point that Castiel couldn’t even really make out any identifying features. He wore two collars around his neck, one of seemingly average strength and one extremely dense, powerful collar that was, no doubt, the cause of his inability to heal even a few of his wounds. His hands were bound tightly behind his back, and in the dim light of the barn, Castiel could make out Enochian engraving on the strip of leather around his wrists, also. His shoulders stuck out sharply, evidence as to just how tightly he’d been bound.

Castiel couldn’t help the anguished noise that escaped his throat as he sank to his knees at the angel’s side, reaching out a hand to heal. Nothing happened. Castiel tried again, concentrating hard and focusing his power. Still nothing.

“Again,” Castiel muttered, summoning even more power. His hand on the angel’s forehead began to shake. Once again, nothing happened. It was the collars, or perhaps, the combination of the collars and leather bindings on the angel’s wrists. Castiel didn’t care. The longer he knelt there, the more he became aware of the angel’s injuries. Of the slashes that could only have come from celestial blades that crisscrossed the angel’s back and chest, clearly visible through the tatters of his tunic. The broken bones; ribs, fingers, and multiple bones of one ankle.

Castiel swayed on his knees, but he still prepared to make one last attempt. He was beyond thought, beyond reason. After everything that had happened that day, he couldn’t bear to just stand idly by while his brother suffered.

“Dammit, Cas,” came Dean’s voice from behind, and Castiel felt strong hands on his shoulders, pulling him back just enough so that the injured angel was beyond his reach. He hadn’t realize how much he’d weakened himself until he was slumped against Dean’s chest, quite unable to move under his own power.

“Get me the barn manager,” Dean barked, cradling Castiel against him in a way that was probably a little too familiar to be professional. Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to worry over it. He leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder, drawing strength and security from the Bond. Dean questioned the barn manager over his head, but it was a few minutes before Castiel could process what was being said.

“I swear, Detective Winchester, one minute this stall was empty, and the next, he was here.”

“And you didn’t see or hear anything?”

Castiel felt the rumble of Dean’s voice in his chest, felt his barely contained rage at the situation.

“Nothing,” the manager said. “And I checked the marks on his collars, looked for a brand on the shoulder. Nothing to indicate ownership by any of the dealers here. Why would they have an angel in such condition anyway? It’s not like he’s going to sell in this state. Someone must have just dumped him.”

“Of course,” another oily voice broke into the conversation. “If you need a place for him, I have space. Seems like he’d be worth at least two grand in prime condition. I’d be willing to get him fixed up.”

“Not happening, _Dick_ ,” Dean said, not even bothering to attempt to disguise his contempt. “Lost or abandoned angels are the responsibility of the Task Force. And it’ll be a cold day in hell before I release any angel into the custody of a Trader. Now, if you don’t have anything useful to contribute, get out.”

The trader chuckled drily, but Castiel heard his footsteps fade away as he did as Dean requested. There was a rustling sound as the barn manager fidgeted just outside the stall.

“Detective,” he said, “Is there anything else you require? Because I have several other pressing matters to attend to.”

“Get me a stretcher,” Dean said. “And make sure all of your paperwork is in order. Because you better believe there’s going to be an investigation, here.”

The few minutes of contact with Dean helped Castiel to regain some much needed strength, and he opened his eyes as the manager strode away. Dean helped him to sit up, one hand lingering low on his back.

“How many times, Cas,” Dean said, exasperated. “If it’s going to knock you on your ass…”

“I couldn’t just sit there,” Castiel said. He looked down at his hands. They still trembled slightly.

“We’ll have to wait until we get him home and I get the collars off of him before you try anymore healing,” Dean said. “I know it’s hard to see him like this, but you gotta promise me, okay? I can’t have you keeling over on me.”

“Detective,” Charlie said, peering over the stall door. “I have all of the traders and handlers waiting in the exhibition hall for questioning. I’ve also notified the organizers that the auction is, as of right now, over.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Dean said, getting to his feet. “I want you and Jo in charge of taking statements. Make sure you get accurate contact information for everyone, and make sure they understand that this isn’t the end of it. They can expect more meetings in the future, as the investigation proceeds.”

Castiel crept forward as Dean spoke, laying a hand on the injured angel once again. He tried to get a sense of the angel’s Grace, perhaps even a whisper of who he might be, or where he may have come from. He felt Dean’s eyes on him, and Dean’s slight spike of anxiety through the Bond.

“Not healing,” Castiel murmured, keeping his gaze trained on the angel.

His hand moved from the angel’s shoulder to his forehead, brushing aside short-cropped, blood-matted dark hair.

“Brother,” he said, quietly. “Know that you are safe, now. No further harm will come to you.”

The angel’s eyes fluttered briefly, but didn’t open. Other than that, the angel never moved.


End file.
